( 


Divislott332.4 


r  ,1  > 


Sectlon 


]Z 


0 


« 


.  1  '''■ '  - 
■  -  -i-^v 


y 


*  ‘  ’  * ! 


t.  'jA^  '.; 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  RIDDLE  OP  LIFE 

THE  CREED  AND  THE  PRAYER 


THE  MASTER 


!  i-EB  1-2  2 

J.  WESLEY  JOHNSTOnW  ^ 


ttaJoAraikoii'l^ 


THE  ABINGDON  PRESS 
NEW  YORK  CINCINNATI 


Copyright,  1923,  by 

J.  WESLEY  JOHNSTON 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


To 

MR.  CHARLES  A.  YOUNGS 

Yonkers,  New  York 

AS  AN 

EXPRESSION  OF  GRATITUDE  FOR 

Sincere  and  Generous  Friendship 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/master00john_0 


WHY? 

The  “Why”  of  this  book  will  be  found  in  its 
reading,  and  only  in  that  way.  It  will  then  be 
seen  that  these  stories  are  not  sermons  in  dis¬ 
guise.  Nor  are  they  concealed  essays  or  lec¬ 
tures,  theological  or  otherwise.  They  are  plain, 
simple  stories;  and  if  the  reader  may  have  even  a 
share  in  the  pleasure  of  the  writer,  the  purpose 
of  this  book  will  be  more  than  realized. 

J.  Wesley  Johnston. 

Morsemere, 

Yonkers,  N.  Y. 


H' 


,  i 


'^■.:.-:''v;0SJP^? 

',■  'i;  -.  .■  .rt/>A:;r%^Ai'iV 


V.  ■  '  \ V  •  '  1  '.n^i 


'  s  '  '•’.  .'  -^jf. 


(.V.\ 


' '  *  '•. '  .  -w  '.*  ■  !:■ ' 


.  < .  ‘ '-y  '}^m 


#  -•..  .  ’  ' 

■ 

-v/' 


-j 


''.  -iit? 


'  '  ’  .'  -A-”:'.  #2 

'•>  '  ,  r,'."  ,.*r 


.:"  ':a''-:':  'r:  ''V-.'; 

4  ■;'/,■  ‘''..'.V^  "J  >  ",*  ^48 


I  •  •  •■  •  '■  •  .  ■  »^  •  '<  .  T  .•  .  '•••^* 

'  ■•> , ;;:' ,  X  (• ;;  ■' 

Mymmi'iMM 


t  ; 


.  .  . .  .  ..  . 


■'V 


>4fp  j  'Ia  ■'  7ry  ;;  ■  y; '■  S< '  c,  ' ;<  Vi  jr;:,  ; 

t?$^h  t  •  yr?!'" 

Iv  M  4:4' 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Christ  and  ZACCHiEus .  11 

The  Master  Tempted .  30 

Christ  and  Nicodemus .  49 

Christ  and  Bartim^eus .  68 

Christ  and  Simon .  87 

Christ  and  Lazarus . 104 

The  Master  Transfigured . 120 

Christ  and  the  Young  Ruler . 134 

The  Master  Betrayed . 150 

The  Master’s  Easter  Day . 167 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^US 


Aaron,  who  was  of  the  tribe  of  Levi, 
rarely  allowed  himself  to  be  troubled  by 
the  murmurings  and  complaints  of  those 
who  paid  tribute  at  the  place  of  custom  where 
he  sat.  In  his  heart  he  knew  that  much  of  this 
tribute  was  unjust;  that  many  of  the  taxes 
were  iniquitous,  that  they  were  most  unevenly 
distributed,  and  that  in  numberless  cases  it 
was  shameless  extortion.  When  he  was  first 
appointed  these  things  disturbed  him.  His 
sympathies  were  aroused.  His  heart  was 
touched.  He  felt  keenly  because  of  the  heavy, 
crushing  burdens  which  so  many  of  the  people 
had  to  bear,  and  against  which  they  were  pow¬ 
erless.  But  gradually  he  became  less  affected. 
His  emotions  were  not  so  easily  stirred.  He 
could  listen  to  the  most  bitter  complaints  as 
though  they  did  not  concern  him  in  anywise. 
Sometimes  he  would  even  smile,  or  shrug  his 
shoulders,  when  men  would  give  vent  to  their 
harsh  anger  and  scathing  reproaches. 

As  the  years  went  on  he  grew  more  indif¬ 
ferent  to  the  feelings  of  those  from  whom 
tribute  was  demanded;  his  only  concern  was 
that  the  tax  be  paid  to  the  uttermost  farthing. 

11 


12 


THE  MASTER 


Nor  did  he  care  how  the  people  regarded  him. 
He  could  sit,  therefore,  at  the  place  of  custom 
unmoved,  inexorable,  merciless. 

But  on  the  morning  of  this  day  he  was  ex¬ 
cited  to  a  degree  startling  to  those  who  saw 
him.  And  not  without  reason. 

Standing  before  him  was  a  man,  a  raiser  of 
sheep,  who  held  a  scrap  of  parchment  in  his 
hand  on  which  some  figures  had  been  written, 
these  figures  representing  duties  he  was  re¬ 
quired  to  pay.  He  was  taller  than  the  average 
man,  stockily  built,  robust,  his  appearance  in 
every  way  suggesting  vigorous,  outdoor  life. 

“Do  you  mean  that  I  must  pay  all  of  this,’’ 
pointing  to  the  figures  on  the  parchment,  “be¬ 
fore  these  bales  of  wool  can  be  taken  out?”  he 
demanded,  angrily,  looking  at  Aaron  with  eyes 
that  seemed  to  burn. 

Aaron  nodded  indifferently. 

“Do  you  know  what  these  bales  of  wool  cost 
me?  I  had  to  watch  my  sheep  by  day  and 
night,  guarding  them  against  the  wolf  and  the 
robber,  defending  them  at  peril  of  my  life.  And 
now  you  would  take  from  me  every  penny  I 
had  hoped  to  gain,  have  me  deeper  in  debt 
than  I  was  before,  rob  my  home  and  family  of 
the  money  we  need  for  bread?” 

With  each  word  the  voice  became  more  shrill 
and  angry. 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^US 


13 


Again  Aaron  gave  the  same  careless  nod. 
This  exasperated  the  shepherd  beyond  endur¬ 
ance.  Coming  over  to  the  table  at  which 
Aaron  sat  and  striking  the  table  with  his 
clinched  hand,  he  shouted: 

“You  thief,  you  robber,  you  traitor,  you 
renegade!  You  of  the  tribe  of  Levi.  To  do 
this  dirty  work  you  deserted  your  own  people, 
you  gave  up  your  inheritan(?e  in  the  priest¬ 
hood,  you  became  a  tool  and  servant  of  the 
Romans,  and  because  you  can  make  money 
and  grow  rich  by  robbing  such  men  as  I  am, 
you  have  forsaken  the  faith  of  your  fathers!  I 
despise  you,  I  hate  you,  I  loathe  you!” 

Aaron  was  now  on  his  feet,  pale  with  anger. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  tongue  failed  him. 
He  could  only  mutter  and  stutter  because  of 
the  intensity  of  his  rage. 

The  shepherd  looked  at  him  with  disgust 
and  contempt,  and  turned  and  walked  away, 
leaving  Aaron  trembling  with  passion. 

It  was  well  on  toward  evening  when  Aaron 
left  the  seat  of  custom  and  started  for  his  home 
in  the  city.  This  involved  a  long  and  often 
lonely  walk  through  the  suburbs,  then  only 
partially  settled.  Brooding  over  the  shepherd’s 
words  and  feeling  their  sting,  he  walked  more 
slowly  than  usual,  so  it  was  almost  dark  when 
he  came  to  a  part  of  the  road  heavily  lined 


14 


THE  MASTER 


with  trees,  when  in  the  dusk  he  saw  two  men 
rush  out  from  where  they  had  been  hiding,  and 
with  heavy  clubs  strike  a  defenseless  traveler. 
Aaron  was  no  coward,  and  rushed  at  once  to 
the  help  of  the  unfortunate  man,  but  the  rob¬ 
bers  were  both  swift  and  deadly,  for  the  man 
was  dead  and  stripped  of  all  his  valuables 
before  Aaron  reached  the  place.  There  was 
light  enough  for  one  of  the  thieves  to  recognize 
Aaron,  so  he  turned  instantlv  to  his  fellow 
thief  with  a  scornful  chuckle  and  said, 

“Have  no  fear!  This  man  is  Aaron,  a  pub¬ 
lican.  He  is  a  taxgatherer.’’ 

“Yes,  but  he  may  have  seen  us  and  will  re¬ 
port  to  the  authorities  in  Jericho.  It  is  mur¬ 
der,  you  know.” 

At  heart  the  man  was  a  coward  and  be¬ 
trayed  it  in  his  voice. 

“That  makes  no  difference.  A  publican  is 
not  allowed  to  be  a  witness  even  in  a  murder 
case.  How  about  it,  Aaron?”  And  the  thief 
leered  at  Aaron  as  he  spoke.  “Anyhow,  we 
had  better  be  going;  some  one,  not  a  publican, 
may  come  along.”  So  gathering  up  the  plun¬ 
der,  the  robbers  went  back  to  their  lair  in  the 
woods,  not  even  moving  the  body  to  the 
roadside. 

The  moon  had  now  come  up,  and  being  in 
the  full,  the  light  was  clear  and  strong.  Just 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCHiEUS 


15 


how  it  happened  he  never  knew,  for  no  ex¬ 
planation  was  even  attempted;  but  on  coming 
to  his  own  street  he  saw  on  the  corner  a  little 
child,  the  daughter  of  a  neighbor  who  lived  not 
far  from  him.  At  that  moment  a  chariot, 
driven  by  Dives,  who  was  returning  from  some 
revelry,  suddenly  turned  the  corner,  one  of  the 
wheels  of  the  chariot  striking  the  girl,  throw¬ 
ing  her  to  the  ground,  but,  by  a  miracle,  not 
passing  over  her,  nor  seriously  wounding  her. 
Aaron  tenderly  lifted  the  child,  who  was  ter¬ 
ribly  frightened  and  cried  bitterly,  and  carried 
her  in  his  arms  to  her  home.  By  this  time  the 
mother  had  missed  the  child,  and  hearing  the 
commotion  in  the  street,  rushed  to  the  door; 
when  seeing  her  little  daughter  in  the  arms  of 
Aaron,  all  the  hatred  and  horror  possible  to  a 
woman’s  heart  found  expression  on  her  face. 

“How  dare  you?”  she  almost  screamed; 
“how  dare  you  take  my  child  in  your  arms? 
Don’t  you  know  you  are  not  allowed  to  even 
touch  your  neighbor’s  children?” 

Snatching  the  little  girl  out  of  Aaron’s  arms, 
she  hurried  into  the  house,  leaving  him  stand¬ 
ing  at  the  door. 

Going  home,  Aaron  found  his  wife  in  deep 
distress.  Some  weeks  before  she  had  written  a 
most  earnest  plea  to  her  father,  asking  that 
she  might  be  allowed  to  join  him,  with  the 


16 


THE  MASTER 


other  members  of  the  family,  in  keeping  the 
Passover,  now  close  at  hand.  His  reply  almost 
broke  her  heart.  He  told  her  that  as  the  wife 
of  a  publican  she  was  no  longer  his  daughter; 
had  ceased  to  be  a  member  of  the  family;  that 
he  would  not  permit  her  to  enter  his  home, 
and  that  none  of  her  relatives  or  former  friends 
would  have  anything  whatever  to  do  with  her, 
or  any  member  of  her  household. 

“O  Aaron,”  she  sobbed,  “why  did  you  con¬ 
sent  to  become  a  receiver  of  tribute  money,  a 
tax  collector,  when  you  knew  everyone  would 
despise  and  hate  you,  and  bring  the  whole 
family  into  disgrace.^  There  isn’t  a  home  in 
this  city  or  anywhere  else  open  to  me  or  the 
children  except  those  of  the  same  degraded 
class  as  our  own.  The  children  are  made  sport 
of  on  the  street;  women  turn  their  faces  aside 
when  I  pass;  they  won’t  even  look  at  me,  and 
you  know  that  the  dirtiest  beggar  in  Jericho 
scowls  when  you  give  him  a  piece  of  money, 
then  throws  it  on  the  ground.” 

After  such  a  day  as  Aaron  had  gone  through, 
this  was  not  a  pleasant  home-coming.  He 
realized,  though,  the  bitter  truthfulness  of 
what  his  wife  had  said.  But  he  made  no  reply. 
He  was  growing  rich;  that  was  the  main 
thought  in  his  mind.  What  if  he  was  hated 
and  despised!  So  he  looked  at  his  wife,  as  she 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCHiEUS 


17 


sat  near  an  open  casement,  very  much  as  he 
looked  at  some  of  the  men  when  they  came  to 
pay  their  tribute  money. 

‘T  was  far  happier  when  we  lived  in  our 
little  home  near  the  temple.  I  had  friends.  I 
could  see  my  people.  But  now — ”  and  her 
voice  trailed  into  a  sob. 

Aaron’s  conscience,  though  hardened,  was 
not  quite  dead.  His  heart,  at  times,  had  a 
throb  of  tenderness.  His  wife’s  mention  of 
their  little  home  of  former  years  awakened 
memories  that  touched  him  far  more  deeply 
than  his  face  betrayed. 

Nothing  more  was  said,  a  servant  coming  in 
just  then  to  announce  the  evening  meal. 

Next  morning  Jericho  was  in  a  whirl  of  ex¬ 
citement.  It  got  known  in  some  way  that 
Jesus  and  his  disciples  were  on  their  way  to 
Jerusalem  to  keep  the  Passover,  and  would 
pass  through  Jericho,  perhaps  stay  over  night. 
This  was  a  rare  piece  of  news  and  spread  rap¬ 
idly  all  through  the  city.  Business  was  prac¬ 
tically  suspended.  Many  of  the  rug  merchants 
pulled  down  their  shutters  and  locked  their 
doors.  The  bazaars  and  markets  might  as  well 
have  been  closed,  for  no  one  went  near  them. 
Early  the  crowds  went  streaming  by,  all  eager, 
and  all  with  one  name  on  their  tongues. 

“Did  you  hear  what  happened  to  Bartimseus 


18 


THE  MASTER 


yesterday?”  a  Syrian  rug  dealer  asked,  as  he 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  his  store,  speaking  to 
his  neighbor,  who  kept  a  bazaar  close  by. 

“No,  I  was  in  Jerusalem  and  it  was  late 
when  I  got  home.” 

“Well,  they  say  Jesus  cured  him  of  his  blind¬ 
ness.” 

“What!  Bartimseus,  who  sat  under  a  palm 
tree  by  the  roadside  begging!  That  can’t  be. 
Why,  he  was  hopelessly  blind.” 

“I  am  only  telling  you  what  everyone  is  say¬ 
ing.  Malachi,  who  came  in  late  in  the  after¬ 
noon  to  look  at  a  rug,  says  he  was  there  and 
saw  Jesus  put  his  hands  on  the  eyes  of  Bar¬ 
timseus.  Malachi  said  he  never  would  forget 
the  look  Bartimseus  had,  as  he  stared  at  the 
crowd.” 

“Did  Bartimseus  come  home  so  his  people 
could  see  that  he  had  been  really  cured?” 

“No.  Malachi  said  he  went  away  with  Jesus 
and  his  disciples.” 

“Now,  I  don’t  doubt  Malachi,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  first  thing  Bartimseus  should 
have  done  was  to  come  home.  We  would  then 
have  seen  him  for  ourselves.” 

“Suppose,”  said  the  rug  dealer,  “we  shut  up 
shop  and  go  with  the  crowd.  We  are  not  doing 
any  business — won’t  do  any  all  day;  it  looks 
that  way  now.  Who  knows  but  Bartimseus 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^US 


19 


may  be  with  Jesus?  We  can  soon  tell  if  his 
eyes  have  been  opened.” 

Just  then  Aaron  went  by.  They  looked  at 
him,  but  gave  no  sign  of  recognition  other  than 
an  angry  scowl. 

‘‘Going  to  Zacchseus  to  get  his  orders  for  the 
day,”  the  rug  dealer  said,  looking  after  Aaron 
contemptuously.  “What  a  thieving,  cheating, 
dirty  crowd  these  publicans  are!  If  this  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  is  what  people  think  he  is,  the 
best  thing  he  can  do  for  Jericho  would  be  to 
drive  every  one  of  them  out  of  the  city,  as  he 
drove  the  money-changers  out  of  the  Temple.” 

“And  I  believe  Zacchseus  is  the  biggest  thief 
and  robber  of  them  all,”  the  bazaar  merchant 
replied.  “He  came  to  Jericho  not  many  years 
ago.  He  was  poor  then,  and,  more  than  once, 
I  had  to  wait  for  my  money.  But  now  he  is  a 
rich  man,  lives  in  a  big  house,  drives  about  in 
his  chariot,  and  is  growing  richer  all  the  time. 
Publican  business  is  better  than  selling  rugs  or 
keeping  bazaars.” 

“But  I  wouldn’t  be  in  his  shoes  for  all  the 
money  he  has,”  the  rug  dealer  said.  “His  money 
is  dirty,  and  almost  everyone  in  Jericho  hates 
the  ground  he  walks  on.  But  let  us  shut  up 
shop  and  get  started.  Half  of  the  city  has 
gone  already.” 

In  a  few  minutes  the  awnings  were  drawn 


20 


THE  MASTER 


up,  the  shutters  pulled  down,  the  doors  locked, 
and  the  two  men  were  on  their  way  to  join 
the  crowd.  Hardly  had  they  left  their  own 
street  and  crossed  over  to  one  which  led  to  the 
main  gate  of  the  city,  when,  to  their  amaze¬ 
ment,  they  saw  Zacchseus  and  Aaron  walking 
toward  the  gate,  as  though  they  were  going 
with  the  multitude  to  meet  the  young  prophet 
of  Nazareth.  They  could  hardly  believe  their 
eyes.  It  seemed  incredible.  These  two  men, 
Zacchseus  especially! 

‘T  don’t  envy  Zacchseus  if  Jesus  sees  him,” 
and  the  rug  dealer  laughed  as  he  spoke. 

“Neither  do  I,”  replied  the  bazaar  merchant. 
“They  told  me  in  Jerusalem  that  when  he 
scourged  the  traders  out  of  the  Temple  he 
spoke  of  them  as  a  den  of  thieves.  I  wonder 
what  he  will  say  to  Zacchseus,  who  is  the  big¬ 
gest  thief  in  Jericho.” 

Meantine  Zacchaeus  and  Aaron  kept  on  their 
way,  though  finding  it  difficult.  The  crowd 
jostled  them,  pushed  them,  jeered  them,  forced 
them  aside,  laughed  at  them,  called  them  all 
manner  of  names,  gave  them  such  rough  abuse 
as  usually  comes  from  an  excited,  angry  mob. 
Zacchseus,  being  below  the  medium  height, 
was  at  a  disadvantage,  so  he  worked  his  way 
out  of  the  crowd  and,  seeing  a  sycamore  tree 
growing  by  the  road  side,  climbed  into  it,  and 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^EUS 


21 


sat  there  waiting  for  Jesus  and  his  disciples. 
This  gave  the  crowd  a  big  chance  for  merri¬ 
ment;  also  to  give  full  expression  to  its  hatred 
and  malice.  And  it  certainly  took  advantage 
of  it.  Every  little  while  a  passing  group  would 
stop,  point  scornfully  at  the  tree,  give  a  de¬ 
risive  cheer;  then  go  on  to  make  way  for  others, 
who  were  eager  to  indulge  in  the  same  cruel 
sport.  But  they  couldn’t  force  Zacchseus  to 
come  down.  They  might  laugh  and  mock  to 
their  heart’s  content;  on  one  thing  he  was  de¬ 
termined,  cost  what  it  would:  he  would  see 
Jesus.  Just  what  his  motive  was  no  one  could 
say.  Who  knows  but  he  may  have  been  in  the 
crowd  when  Jesus  gave  that  matchless  parable 
of  the  Pharisee  and  the  publican,  when  the 
publican  could  only  smite  upon  his  breast  and 
cry,  “God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner,”  yet  he 
was  the  one  who  went  down  to  his  house  justi¬ 
fied,  not  the  self-righteous  Pharisee;  or  some 
one  may  have  told  him  of  the  parable  of  the 
lost  sheep  and  of  the  shepherd’s  joy  when  he 
found  the  wanderer.  From  all  that  he  had 
heard — and  he  must  have  heard  much,  for  he 
was  often  in  Jerusalem — he  was  certain  that 
Jesus  was  unlike  any  of  the  priests  or  rabbis  in 
Jericho.  Then  he  remembered  that  at  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  his  ministry  Jesus  had  called  a 
publican,  Matthew  by  name,  to  be  one  of  his 


22 


THE  MASTER 


chosen  disciples.  So  there  he  sat  in  the  tree; 
not  unmindful  or  indifferent  to  the  mocking, 
jeering  crowd,  for  at  times  his  heart  flamed 
with  anger,  but  he  had  come  out  to  see  Jesus 
and  see  him  he  would. 

Aaron,  being  comparatively  tall,  was  able  to 
see  over  the  heads  of  most  in  the  throng,  so  he 
remained  beside  the  tree  into  which  Zacchaeus 
had  climbed. 

Before  long  a  great  shout  was  raised,  as 
Jesus  was  seen  coming  along  the  dusty  road. 
He  could  not  come  rapidly,  for  the  crowd 
blocked  the  way,  all  eager  to  see  the  one  of 
whom  they  had  heard  so  much.  Then  there 
was  Bartimaeus,  who  was  recognized  by  many 
in  the  throng,  and  the  Syrian  rug  dealer  and 
the  bazaar  merchant  were  rushing  over  to 
speak  with  him.  It  was  by  no  means  a  stately 
procession.  It  couldn’t  be,  for  the  road, 
though  a  highway,  was  not  wide,  and  the 
crowd  was  growing  more  dense  every  moment. 
On  reaching  the  sycamore  where  Zacchaeus 
was,  Jesus  stopped.  Instantly  every  voice 
ceased,  for  they  were  all  anxious  to  hear  what 
the  prophet  of  Nazareth  would  say  to  the 
despised  and  hated  publican,  who  had  dared  to 
mingle  with  them  at  such  a  time  as  this.  But 
would  Jesus  know  him.^  Perhaps  he  had  never 
seen  him.  If  they  could  only  tell  the  young 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCHiEUS 


23 


Nazarene  that  the  man  in  the  tree  was  Zac- 
chaeus,  the  chief  of  the  publicans,  who,  by 
extortion,  by  robbery,  by  false  accusation,  had 
grown  enormously  rich,  they  were  sure  that 
he  would  rebuke  and  denounce  him  in  the 
most  bitter  terms.  They  could  not  understand, 
though,  why  Jesus  had  stopped  on  his  way  and 
stood  looking  at  the  tree.  Perhaps  that  smile 
on  his  face,  which  seemed  to  illuminate  every 
feature,  was  one  of  amusement  at  seeing  Zac- 
chaeus  in  such  a  place,  perched,  bird  fashion, 
among  the  branches. 

Those  standing  near  enough  looked  first  at 
Jesus,  then  at  Zacchaeus;  those  who  were 
farther  back  reached  forward,  anxious  both  to 
see  and  hear. 

Then  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  which  could  be 
heard  by  many  in  that  vast  throng,  Jesus 
said: 

“Zacchaeus,  make  haste,  and  come  down;  for 
to-day  I  must  abide  at  thy  house.” 

Zacchaeus — the  publican!  The  chief  of  the 
publicans!  Could  it  be  possible.^  He  was  not, 
then,  a  stranger  to  the  Nazarene,  for  he  had 
called  him,  called  him  by  name,  and  was  ac¬ 
tually  going  to  his  house. 

No  wonder  black  looks  passed  from  one  to 
another,  or  that  angry  scowls  gathered  on  so 
many  faces.  Turning  their  wrathful  eyes  to 


24 


THE  MASTER 


the  sycamore  tree,  they  saw  a  rare  light  on  the 
face  of  Zacchseus,  and  they  watched  him  come 
down  with  the  speed  and  nimbleness  of  a  boy 
and  hurry  to  the  place  where  Jesus  was  wait¬ 
ing  to  receive  him. 

It  was  with  different  feelings  from  those  of 
the  morning  that  the  crowd  returned  to  Jeri¬ 
cho.  Amazement,  wonder,  surprise,  anger 
everywhere  prevailed.  The  name  of  Zacchseus, 
spoken  in  tones  of  bitterness,  was  on  every  lip. 
That  he  should  be  singled  out  in  this  way, 
and  was  now  walking  at  the  side  of  Jesus, 
who  was  going  to  his  house  as  a  guest  and  who 
would  sit  at  his  table,  was  beyond  anything 
they  had  ever  heard  or  thought  possible.  Not 
one  in  that  crowd  would  have  allowed  Zac¬ 
chseus  to  cross  the  threshold  of  his  home;  and 
as  for  eating  with  him,  the  mere  suggestion 
was  almost  sacrilege.  Zacchseus!  Bah!  And 
both  word  and  gesture  were  of  utmost  contempt. 

The  home  to  which  Zacchseus  conducted 
Jesus  fully  justified  the  general  opinion  re¬ 
garding  his  wealth.  It  was  a  large,  almost 
palatial  dwelling,  beautifully  situated  in  one  of 
the  most  desirable  suburbs  of  Jericho.  The 
courtyard,  where  in  pleasant  weather  Zac¬ 
chseus  entertained  his  friends,  was  so  arranged 
as  to  accommodate  scores  of  guests,  yet  have 
room  for  many  outsiders  to  come  in,  and  look 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^US 


25 


on,  while  the  feast  was  being  served.  Imme¬ 
diately  on  arriving  at  his  house  Zacchseiis 
called  the  steward  of  his  household  and  told 
him  not  only  to  prepare  for  a  large  company, 
but  to  send  special  messengers  to  as  many  of 
his  friends  as  were  in  the  city,  inviting  them  to 
meet  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  No  second  invitation 
was  necessary,  for  the  news  that  Zacchaeus  had 
been  called  from  the  sycamore  tree  had  trav¬ 
eled  far  and  wide,  and  the  guests  eagerly 
hastened  to  obey  the  call.  As  the  meal  was 
being  served  others  came  in,  until  the  spaces 
outside  the  tables  were  completely  filled. 
Nearly  all  of  these  uninvited  guests  had  been 
in  the  crowd  of  the  morning,  and  with  those 
who  had  murmured,  when  Jesus  called  Zac- 
chaeus  and  said  he  would  abide  at  his  house. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  their  murmurings  had 
not  lessened  in  anywise.  There  were  the  same 
scowls,  the  same  black  frowns,  the  same  angry 
mutterings;  some  of  them  not  content  with 
muttering  but  speaking  so  loudly  as  to  be 
heard  at  the  tables,  where  the  company  was 
seated.  Zacchaeus  heard — he  could  not  help 
hearing,  and  he  knew  it  was  meant  that  he 
should  hear.  When  the  word  ‘‘sinner”  was 
spoken,  it  was  accompanied  with  a  hiss,  then 
a  look  at  him,  an  ugly  look,  bitter  and  angry 
as  it  could  be. 


26 


THE  MASTER 


Rising  from  his  place  and  standing  where 
all  could  see  him,  he  said: 

“Master,  these  men,”  waving  his  hand  so  as 
to  include  the  murmurers  all  over  the  court¬ 
yard,  “say  I  am  a  sinner;  that  I  have  taken 
that  to  which  I  had  no  just  claim;  that  by 
false  accusation  I  have  cheated  and  defrauded. 
I  will  not  deny  their  charges;  nor  do  I  ask  that 
they  take  their  cases  to  the  courts.  Here  is  what 
I  will  do;  from  this  hour  one  half  of  everything  I 
possess  I  give  to  the  poor;  and  if  I  have 
wronged  any  man,  I  restore  him  fourfold.” 

Zacchaeus  remained  standing,  waiting  for 
some  of  his  accusers  to  speak.  But  only  a 
strange  silence  prevailed.  Men  looked  at  each 
other  in  sheer  amazement.  The  terms  pro¬ 
posed  by  Zacchaeus  astonished  them  beyond 
measure.  One  half  of  all  his  wealth!  Four¬ 
fold  to  any  who  had  been  defrauded!  Such  a 
thing  had  never  been  heard  of  before. 

Zacchaeus  resumed  his  seat  at  the  side  of 
Jesus,  who  gave  him  an  approving  smile, 
one  that  Zacchaeus  remembered  all  his  after 
life. 

Jesus,  being  the  guest  of  honor,  sat  where  all 
could  see  him,  and  instantly  every  eye  turned 
to  watch  what  he  might  do  after  this  outburst 
of  Zacchaeus.  Quietly,  but  with  rare  tender¬ 
ness,  he  placed  his  hand  affectionately  on  the 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCHJEUS 


27 


shoulder  of  Zacchseus,  then,  speaking  in  that 
tone  which  he  only  could  use,  said: 

“This  day  salvation  is  come  to  this  house, 
for  he  also  is  a  son  of  Abraham.  Like  many 
others — like  some  of  you — he  had  sold  his 
birthright.  But  he  has  redeemed  it,  and  he 
has  redeemed  it  at  a  great  price.  From  this 
day  forward  no  man  can  say  aught  against 
him.  He  is  now  my  disciple,  for  the  Son  of 
man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which 
was  lost.” 

And  then  followed  one  of  those  matchless 
parables,  with  which  Jesus  was  wont  to  close 
his  discourse. 

As  a  usual  thing  Aaron  was  prompt  in  his 
home-comings,  but  on  this  day  he  was  so  late 
that  when  he  entered  the  house  his  wife  looked 
at  him  with  some  anxiety.  She  was  sure  some¬ 
thing  had  happened,  something  too  quite  out 
of  the  ordinary.  But  she  did  not  proceed  to 
question  him,  as  she  sometimes  did,  regarding 
the  events  of  the  day,  for  there  was  an  expres¬ 
sion  on  his  face  she  had  never  seen  before. 
There  was  a  softer  light  in  his  eyes;  his  mouth 
was  not  so  set  and  grim.  When  crossing  the 
room  there  was  less  authority  in  his  step. 
Even  his  voice  had  changed;  that  she  noticed 
when  he  spoke  to  one  of  the  servants,  for  it 
had  less  of  hardness  and  command.  She 


28 


THE  MASTER 


watched  him  closely,  not,  though,  in  a  ques¬ 
tioning,  curious  way,  but  with  a  sort  of  won¬ 
der. 

Then  he  was  more  quiet  than  usual.  Often¬ 
times  he  would  speak  of  some  incident  at  the 
seat  of  custom,  of  the  various  ways  people 
would  try  to  evade  their  taxes,  and  not  infre¬ 
quently  he  would  laughingly  tell  of  the  tricks 
to  which  one  and  another  would  resort.  But 
there  were  none  of  these  things  this  evening. 
One  time  he  would  look  around  the  room, 
which  was  expensively  furnished,  as  if  he  were 
appraising  each  article,  then  at  his  wife,  whose 
face,  though  sad,  held  much  of  its  girlhood 
beauty,  then  into  the  courtyard  where  his  two 
little  children  were  trying  to  amuse  them¬ 
selves,  for  no  other  children  could  play  with 
them.  Finally  he  said,  looking  over  to  his 
wife,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  watching 
the  children, 

‘‘Miriam,  I  saw  Jesus  to-day.” 

“Jesus  of  Nazareth?”  There  was  an  eager 
question  in  her  voice  as  she  turned  from  the 
doorway  to  look  at  Aaron. 

“Yes,  I  went  with  Zacchaeus  to  meet  him. 
We  heard  he  was  coming  to  Jericho.  But, 
Miriam,  do  you  know  he” — going  on  to  tell 
her  of  all  that  had  taken  place,  from  the  calling 
of  Zacchaeus  to  the  last  word  of  the  parable 


CHRIST  AND  ZACCH^US 


29 


given  by  Jesus.  She  listened  intently,  noting 
the  peculiar  excitement  under  which  he  spoke. 

“And  what  will  Zacchaeus  do,  now  that  he 
has  become  a  disciple  of  Jesus.^”  Miriam’s 
heart  was  behind  this  question,  and  Aaron  felt 
each  throb. 

“Just  what  he  may  do  by  way  of  business  I 
can’t  say.  But  within  an  hour  after  Jesus  left 
he  sent  a  special  messenger  to  Jerusalem  to  the 
authorities  there,  asking  to  be  relieved  as  chief 
of  the  publicans,  and  the  same  messenger  that 
carried  the  request  of  Zacchseus” — here  Aaron 
paused,  for  his  wife  was  looking  at  him  so 
earnestly  that  he  could  almost  feel  the  flame 
in  her  eyes — “carried  mine  as  well.” 

For  a  moment  Miriam  seemed  as  one  dazed. 
Not  a  word  fell  from  her  lips.  Her  breath 
came  and  went  as  though  gasping  for  relief. 
Then  with  a  low  cry  she  flung  her  arms  about 
Aaron’s  neck,  tears  of  gladness  filling  her  eyes. 

“O  Aaron,  thank  God,  thank  God!” 

With  the  tenderness  of  a  lover,  he  bent  down 
and  kissed  her. 

“Yes,  Miriam,  thank  God!  and  thank  him 
for  having  sent  his  Son  Jesus  to  seek  and  to 
save  that  which  was  lost.” 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


' 

^  W  comrade  and  confidential  friend, 
Zadok,  ‘^of  John,  the  son  of 

Zacharias?” 

“From  what  I  hear,”  Zadok  replied,  “he 
seems  to  be  something  of  a  prophet.  People 
speak  of  him  as  another  Elijah — a  shaggy, 
daring  man,  whose  life  so  far  has  been  spent 
in  the  wilderness,  but  beyond  that  I  know 
nothing.” 

“How  long  is  it  since  a  real  prophet  came  to 
our  people  with  a  message  from  God.?”  Abi- 
jah’s  question  was  in  a  serious  tone,  for  he  was 
a  devout  Jew,  also  an  ardent  patriot  and  a 
firm  believer  in  the  hopes  and  traditions  of 
his  native  land. 

“There  has  been  no  God-sent  prophet  since 
the  days  of  Nehemiah  and  Malachi,  four  hun¬ 
dred  years  ago,”  Zadok  replied,  sadly,  for  he 
was  a  Hebrew  of  unbroken  lineage  and  earn¬ 
estly  longed  for  the  redemption  of  Israel. 

“And  during  all  that  time  our  people  have 
been  in  bondage:  no  Moses  to  lead  them  out 
of  slavery,  no  Joshua  to  head  a  victorious 

30 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


31 


army,  no  David  to  establish  a  kingdom.  What 
has  become  of  the  spirit  once  so  mighty  in  the 
Hebrew  heart  Have  we  lost  all  hope  or  faith 
or  courage.^  We  have  been  slaves  to  the  Per¬ 
sians,  the  Greeks,  the  Egyptians,  and  now  the 
Romans,  the  most  cruel  and  merciless  of  all. 
Surely,  we  are  not  to  remain  in  bondage  for¬ 
ever.” 

While  Abijah  was  speaking,  a  troop  of 
Roman  soldiers  marched  down  the  street,  for 
it  was  the  hour  when  the  guards  were  changed 
and  the  watch  set  for  the  night.  Zadok  waited 
until  the  clank  of  the  armor  had  died  away; 
his  eyes,  as  those  of  Abijah,  following  the 
soldiers  on  their  noisy  way.  Then  he  said: 

“No,  we  are  not  going  to  remain  in  bondage 
for  ever.  How  we  are  to  be  set  free  I  do  not 
know.  But  God  has  strange  ways  of  bringing 
things  to  pass.  It  may  be  that  this  John,  the 
son  of  Zacharias,  is  a  heaven-sent  prophet. 
Isn’t  it  remarkable,  though,  that  he  should  be 
preaching  and  baptizing  just  across  the  Jor¬ 
dan,  where  Joshua  led  our  people  into  what 
was  then  the  promised  land?  Abijah,  suppose 
we  go  and  hear  him  to-morrow.  There  is  noth¬ 
ing  in  the  rules  of  either  your  order  or  mine 
to  forbid  our  doing  so.  We  can  then  judge  for 
ourselves.  He  may,  after  all,  be  a  prophet 
sent  from  God.” 


82 


THE  MASTER 


Though  they  had  heard  many  people  speak 
of  John  and  the  general  excitement  caused  by 
his  ministry,  they  were  not  prepared  for  the 
scene  which  awaited  them  at  Bethabara.  It 
would  seem  as  if  the  whole  country  had  as¬ 
sembled  there.  Crowds  had  come  pouring 
down  from  all  cities  bordering  on  the  Sea  of 
Galilee.  From  Jericho  near  by  and  Jerusalem 
more  distant  they  had  come  in  multitudes. 
And  they  were  of  all  classes  and  conditions. 

“Look  over  there,”  said  Abijah.  “See  that 
group  of  haughty,  scornful  Sadducees?  What 
brings  them  here?  And  right  there  you  will 
find  a  big  company  of  Pharisees,”  pointing 
first  in  one  direction,  then  another. 

“Yes,  I  see  them,  but  have  you  observed 
the  soldiers  and  the  publicans?  You  might 
well  ask  what  brings  them  here?  Think  of 
Roman  soldiers  and  thieving  publicans  com¬ 
ing  to  hear  the  son  of  a  Jewish  priest!” 

Thus  they  went  on  making  various  com¬ 
ments,  at  times  speaking  in  undertones,  for 
the  spies  of  Herod  were  wont  to  mingle  with 
crowds  and  listen  for  speech  which  might  be 
deemed  treasonable. 

Along  about  the  third  hour,  by  the  com¬ 
motion  and  the  crowding  up  of  the  people  to  a 
little  hill,  they  assumed  that  John  would  soon 
appear,  nor  were  they  mistaken,  for  presently 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


38 


there  came  from  the  desert  the  man  all  were 
so  anxious  to  see  and  hear.  Zadok  looked 
something  of  the  surprise  he  felt.  But  it  was 
not  surprise  Abijah  felt,  it  was  amazement. 
For  John  perfectly  embodied  his  dreams  and 
visions  of  Elijah.  And  Elijah  to  his  mind  had 
always  been  the  mighty  prophet  of  Israel. 
With  what  boldness  he  had  confronted  Ahab! 
With  what  faith  he  had  challenged  the  priests 
of  Baal,  daring  them  to  a  test  on  Mount  Car¬ 
mel!  How  strangely  he  had  gone  from  earth 
to  heaven,  fearlessly  entering  a  chariot  of  fire! 
Never  was  Abijah  so  startled  as  at  that  mo¬ 
ment.  He  was  fairly  bewildered.  Right  there, 
moving  rapidly,  going  toward  the  hill  from 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  speak,  was  the 
Elijah  of  his  boyish  dreams,  of  his  young  man¬ 
hood’s  maturer  vision.  Tall,  spare  of  figure, 
with  eyes  that  burned  with  hidden  fire,  face 
bronzed  by  the  desert  sun  and  storm,  jet  black, 
unkempt  hair  falling  loosely  on  his  shoulders, 
a  garment  of  coarse  camel’s  hair,  roughly  fas¬ 
tened  with  a  thong  which  served  as  a  girdle 
but  having  his  right  arm  bare,  in  his  hand  a 
long  rod,  evidently  a  wilderness  sapling,  he 
was  indeed  remarkable  in  every  way.  Zadok 
and  Abijah  deeply  regretted  being  unable  to 
hear  all  that  John  was  saying,  for  the  crowd 
was  so  great  and  they  were  at  such  a  distance 


34 


THE  MASTER 


that  only  when  he  raised  his  voice  to  trumpet 
tones  could  they  discern  his  meaning.  But 
they  could  see  his  face,  observe  his  gestures, 
and  mark  the  impression  he  was  making  on 
that  eager,  straining  crowd.  At  times  he 
would  cry  out,  with  a  voice  that  seemed  to 
fill  the  valley  and  reach  across  the  river,  “Re¬ 
pent,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.” 

“Zadok,  why  can’t  we  remain  here  a  day  or 
two?  I  am  anxious  to  meet  this  son  of  Zach- 
arias.  That  was  a  strange  thing  he  said  when 
closing  his  discourse,  and  the  people  were  so 
quiet  we  could  hear  it  distinctly — T  indeed 
baptize  you  with  water  unto  repentance;  but 
he  that  cometh  after  me  is  mightier  than  I, 
whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy  to  bear;  he  shall 
baptize  you  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with 
fire.’  I  wonder  what  John  meant  by  speaking 
of  One  coming  after  him.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  John  is  Elijah,  the  prophet  spoken 
of  by  Malachi.” 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  impression 
John  had  made  on  the  mind  of  Abijah,  nor  on 
Zadok  either,  for  he  willingly  accepted  the 
suggestion  of  remaining  at  Bethabara  for  a 
few  days,  even  longer  if  necessary.  And  they 
were  well  repaid  for  doing  so,  inasmuch  as 
they  were  permitted  to  meet  John  and  ask 
what  he  meant  by  saying  that  the  kingdom  of 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


35 


heaven  is  at  hand,  and  who  is  the  Mighty 
One  coming  after  him? 

“Yes,”  he  answered,  his  face  lighting  up 
with  a  great  hope,  as  the  sun  breaking  through 
a  dense,  heavy  cloud,  “the  kingdom  of  heaven 
is  not  only  at  hand;  it  is  here,  and  the  One  of 
whom  I  spoke  shall  suddenly  come  to  his 
temple,  even  the  messenger  of  the  covenant.” 

Abijah  recognized  in  the  words  of  John  the 
startling  prophecy  of  Malachi,  and  became 
even  more  convinced  that  Elijah  had  returned 
to  earth  and  was  now  speaking  with  him. 

“How  are  we  to  know  this  Mighty  One?” 
Zadok  asked.  “Many  times  during  the  past 
hundreds  of  years  men  have  come  promising 
deliverance  to  Israel,  but  they  have  all  failed, 
and  in  their  failure  added  to  the  burden  and 
sorrow  of  the  people.  Are  you  certain  this 
Mighty  One  of  whom  you  speak  will  not  fail 
as  the  others  have  failed?” 

“It  was  revealed  to  me  in  the  wilderness  one 
night  as  I  sat  at  the  entrance  to  my  cave  that 
a  young  Man  would  be  baptized  of  me  in 
Jordan,  upon  whom  the  Spirit  would  descend 
in  the  form  of  a  dove,  and  that  he  is  the  Mighty 
One  sent  of  God  who  shall  baptize  with  the 
Holy  Ghost  and  with  fire.” 

John  spoke  with  such  confidence,  such  mani¬ 
fest  sincerity,  as  to  convince  both  Zadok  and 


36 


THE  MASTER 


Abijah  that  something  of  great  moment  was 
soon  to  take  place. 

The  next  day  when  John  was  questioning 
those  who  were  desirous  of  being  baptized, 
they  saw  a  young  Man  speak  with  him,  and 
to  their  surprise  they  heard  John  say,  ‘T  have 
need  to  be  baptized  of  thee,  and  comest  thou 
to  me.^” 

This  caused  them  to  look  with  deep  interest 
at  the  One  to  whom  John  addressed  these 
strange  words.  They  saw  a  Man,  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age,  garbed  much  as  a  peasant 
or  artisan,  apparently  a  stranger  from  the  hill 
country;  yet  there  was  something  singularly 
attractive  in  his  bearing  and  appearance, 
which  seemed  to  set  him  apart  from  all  of  the 
others  in  that  great  crowd.  There  was  a  pe¬ 
culiar  expression  on  his  face,  unlike  anything 
they  had  ever  seen  before.  It  suggested  a 
divine  tenderness,  yet  a  sadness  almost  infinite; 
it  revealed  strength  and  courage,  which  filled 
them  with  strange  hope,  but  there  was  also 
that  which  made  vivid  the  words  of  Isaiah — 
“a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief.” 

In  a  way  neither  of  them  could  afterward 
explain  Abijah  and  Zadok  felt  an  almost  com¬ 
pelling  desire  to  be  baptized  at  the  same  time 
as  this  Stranger,  but  John  waved  them  back, 
just  as  they  were  about  to  step  into  the  water. 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


37 


The  day  after  the  baptism  John,  walking 
with  Abijah  and  Zadok,  saw  this  Stranger, 
when  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  and  an  em¬ 
phasis  that  were  startling,  ‘‘Behold  the  Lamb 
of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world.” 

Then  he  went  on:  “Yesterday  the  sign  prom¬ 
ised  was  given  me.  I  saw  the  heavens  open 
and  the  Spirit  descend  in  the  form  of  a  dove 
and  remain  on  him.  And  even  more,  I  heard 
a  voice  saying,  ‘Thou  art  my  beloved  Son,  in 
whom  I  am  well  pleased.’  ” 

“But  we  saw  no  dove,  neither  did  we  hear  a 
voice,”  Abijah  said,  speaking  somewhat  re¬ 
proachfully. 

“No;  if  the  people  yesterday  had  seen  that 
dove,  or  heard  that  voice,  they  would  have 
been  confused,  filled  with  wonder,  talked  about 
it  among  themselves;  some  would  have  seen  in 
the  descent  of  the  dove  merely  a  coincidence, 
or  regarded  the  voice  as  the  rumbling  of  dis¬ 
tant  thunder.  But  I  understood  the  meaning 
of  these  things,  therefore  the  heavens  opened 
to  me,  and  the  voice  spoke  to  my  soul.” 

As  it  was  now  approaching  sundown,  John 
walked  rapidly  away,  leaving  Zadok  and  Abijah 
to  ponder  over  what  they  had  heard. 

On  the  following  day  they  again  met  John, 
and  while  he  was  speaking,  the  Stranger,  with 


38 


THE  MASTER 


bowed  head  and  evidently  in  deep  thought, 
stood  on  the  river’s  bank,  not  far  from  where 
he  had  been  baptized,  when  John,  with  an 
intensity  only  possible  to  a  man  of  his  spirit, 
once  more  said,  “Behold  the  Lamb  of  God!” 

The  Stranger  heard  John’s  clear,  emphatic 
words,  for  he  looked  at  him  in  a  strange,  puz¬ 
zled  way;  then  with  set  face,  as  though  a 
mighty  task  lay  before  him,  he  made  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  entered  the  same  wil¬ 
derness  in  which  John  had  his  home. 

“I  heard  some  of  his  friends  from  Nazareth 
call  him  Master,”  Zadok  said  to  Abijah,  as 
they  watched  the  now  familiar  form  gradually 
lose  itself  in  the  desert. 

“Yes,  and  by  that  title  he  will  be  known  for 
generations  to  come.  There  is  something  about 
him  of  a  quality  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other 
man.  He  is  quiet,  unaffected,  simple;  there  is 
nothing  of  pride  or  assumption  in  any  form, 
yet  the  moment  one  enters  his  presence  a  feel¬ 
ing  of  awe  or  reverence  takes  possession  of  the 
soul.  When  I  have  been  with  John  and  heard 
him  speak,  I  could  but  admire  his  sturdy  inde¬ 
pendence,  his  striking  forms  of  speech,  the 
directness  of  his  message,  his  extraordinary 
resemblance  to  Elijah;  but  for  the  Master,  as 
we  now  should  call  him,  I  have  a  much  stronger 
feeling  than  admiration.  The  fact  is  I  love 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


39 


him,  and  that  love  is  the  deepest  passion  of 
which  I  am  capable.  From  now  on  he  is  The 
Master  to  me,  as  in  time  he  will  be  to  all  who 
know  him.” 

Though  Zadok  had  been  a  close  friend  of 
Abijah  for  many  years,  he  had  never  heard 
him  speak  with  such  earnestness  or  profound 
conviction  as  at  that  moment. 

Soon  after  these  two,  now  devoted  disciples 
of  John,  left  Bethabara  and  returned  to  their 
homes  in  Jericho. 

A  wild,  dread  place  was  the  wilderness  to 
which  the  Master  retired  after  his  baptism  by 
John.  Unlike  in  every  way  to  his  home  in 
Nazareth,  the  contrast  must  have  been  start¬ 
ling.  In  Nazareth  there  were  the  gentle  hills 
sloping  northward,  from  which  could  be  seen 
the  Jordan  Valley  and  in  the  distance  the 
gleam  of  the  restless  sea.  But  in  the  wilderness 
there  was  nothing  of  peace;  it  was  nature  dis¬ 
torted,  misshapen,  malignant;  masses  of  frown¬ 
ing  rocks;  gnarled  and  twisted  roots  of  trees 
torn  up  by  some  mad  storm;  lairs  where  wild 
beasts  lay  crouching  for  their  prey;  dark,  fear¬ 
some  caves,  from  which  daring,  brutal  robbers 
came  out  in  bands,  a  scourge  and  terror  to  all 
that  region.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
the  tumult,  the  confusion,  the  disorder  of  the 
wilderness  in  large  measure  reflected  the  feel- 


40 


THE  MASTER 


ing  in  the  Master’s  heart.  For  up  among  the  j 
Galilsean  hills,  when,  at  times,  there  would  ] 
break  upon  him  the  vision  of  his  mission  to  J 
the  world,  he  would  see  so  much  that  was  j 
peaceful  that  his  task  seemed  comparatively  | 
easy.  There  were  the  valleys,  beauty  spots  of  j 
even  the  luxuriant  East,  laden  as  nowhere  else 
with  flowers  of  every  form  and  color,  vineyards 
purpling  in  the  sun,  orchards  rich  with  all  man¬ 
ner  of  fruit,  sheep  thronging  the  pastures,  doves 
nesting  in  the  trees,  and  the  air  sweet  with  i 
grateful  perfume.  It  surely  could  not  be  an 
infinite  burden  to  redeem  such  a  world  as  this, 
where  everything  was  at  peace.  But  when  he 
came  to  the  baptism  of  John  and  saw  the 
world  as  it  really  was;  when  he  looked  at  the  > 

hardened,  cruel  faces  of  the  soldiers,  brutal  in 
their  speech  and  bearing;  the  selfish,  avaricious 
publicans,  without  mercy  or  conscience;  the 
boasting  Pharisees,  whose  religious  life  was  all 
mockery  and  sham,  with  hearts  full  of  hidden 
and  fearful  sin;  the  haughty  Sadducees,  to 
whom  every  form  of  faith  was  a  derision  and 
who  denied  all  life  beyond  the  grave:  when  he 
saw  all  these,  and  then  the  great  crowd,  whose 
chief  concern  was  with  what  they  should  eat 
and  drink,  without  spiritual  aspiration  or  de¬ 
sire,  then  he  realized  the  magnitude  of  the 
commission  with  which  he  had  been  intrusted. 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


41 


and  the  awful  sacrifice  that  commission  in¬ 
volved.  No  wonder  he  fled  to  the  wilderness. 
Only  in  solitude,  with  anxious  prayer,  and 
long-continued  fasting,  could  he  face  the  ter¬ 
rible  issues  that  lay  before  him.  To  ask  him 
to  redeem  such  a  world  as  he  had  seen  in  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan,  a  callous,  unfeeling,  false, 
treacherous,  selfish,  sodden  world,  was  a  bur¬ 
den  so  heavy  as  to  send  him  to  the  wilderness, 
where,  unseen  by  mortal  eye,  he  might  fight 
out  the  battle  that  was  raging  in  his  soul.  He 
thought  nothing  of  food  or  of  physical  com¬ 
fort.  He  gave  no  heed  to  the  wild  beasts  as 
they  prowled  through  the  brushwood,  or  the 
yet  wilder  beasts  in  human  form,  who  went 
forth  to  rob  and  murder.  His  one  concern  was 
with  the  duty  to  which  he  had  been  appointed. 
How  could  that  duty  be  met.^  What  was  the 
sacrifice  required  of  him?  John  had  called  him 
the  Lamb  of  God,  and  wasn’t  the  lamb  always 
slain,  then  presented  as  an  offering?  What  did 
John  mean  by  using  a  sacrificial  term?  For 
days  and  weeks  the  struggle  went  on,  the  body 
growing  weaker  until  merciless  hunger  set  in. 

Then  a  voice,  sardonic,  mocking,  malignant, 
broke  upon  the  silence  of  the  wilderness  by 
saying,  “If  thou  be  the  Son  of  God,  command 
that  these  stones  be  made  bread.” 

No  taunt  could  have  been  more  cruel,  no 


42 


THE  MASTER 


word  more  heartless.  Only  a  dastard,  and  he 
of  the  lowest  type,  would  have  spoken  in  such 
fashion. 

Here  was  a  young  Man  weakened  by  mid¬ 
night  vigils,  exhausted  by  long-continued 
prayer,  engaged  in  a  battle  which  has  taxed 
every  energy  of  his  soul,  a  battle  of  such  tre¬ 
mendous  moment  as  to  involve  the  destiny  of 
the  entire  world,  and  now  faint  and  weak  with 
hunger;  but  instead  of  companionship,  or 
sympathy,  the  sneering,  mocking  voice  only 
says: 

“You  claim  to  be  the  Son  of  God.  You  ex¬ 
pect  to  be  received  as  the  One  appointed  to 
deliver  Israel.  Prove  it.  Prove  that  a  voice 
from  heaven  spoke  to  you  in  Jordan.  Prove 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  descended  on  you  in 
the  form  of  a  dove.  You  have  been  in  this 
wilderness  for  forty  days  preparing  for  your 
work,  as  the  heaven-sent  Messiah.  Why  not 
begin  your  work  now.^  You  are  hungry:  here 
are  stones.  If  you  are  the  Son  of  God,  one 
word  from  you  and  these  stones  will  change 
into  bread.  God  surely  doesn’t  want  his  Son 
to  perish  with  hunger.  And  if  you  perish,  what 
about  the  work  you  came  to  do.^  Why  make  a 
needless  sacrifice?” 

Thus  the  Tempter  went  on,  gloating  over 
the  worn,  weary  Man,  hoping  to  goad  him  into 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


43 


speaking  the  word  which  would  relieve  his 
hunger. 

Quicker  than  lightning’s  flash  the  Master’s 
thoughts  went  back  to  another  scene,  where 
this  same  Tempter,  only  in  a  different  form, 
whispered  cunningly:  “Why  not  eat  of  the 
fruit.?  Then  your  eyes  will  be  opened  and  ye 
shall  be  as  gods.” 

In  the  garden  it  was  fruit;  in  the  wilderness 
it  was  bread;  in  the  garden  it  was  the  woman 
who  was  tempted;  in  the  wilderness  it  was  the 
seed  of  the  woman  who  faced  the  Tempter; 
but  he,  instead  of  falling  into  the  snare,  an¬ 
swered  in  a  voice  which  contained  neither 
doubt  nor  fear,  “It  is  written,  Man  shall  not 
live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word  that 
proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God.”  Evi¬ 
dently  the  seed  of  the  woman  had  found  the 
serpent’s  head  and  placed  his  heel  on  it. 

Then  another  suggestion  was  made,  for  the 
Evil  One  is  not  easily  baffled. 

“True;  what  you  have  said  is  written,  so 
also  is  this:  ‘He  shall  give  his  angels  charge 
concerning  thee,  and  in  their  hands  they  shall 
bear  thee  up,  lest  at  any  time  thou  dash  thy 
foot  against  a  stone.’  Suppose  we  go  now  to 
the  Temple,  to  the  pinnacle  which  can  be  seen 
by  the  crowds  in  the  courtyard  who  assemble 
there  daily,  then,  when  they  are  looking  up, 


44^ 


THE  MASTER 


wondering  at  our  presence  in  such  a  place — 
for  no  one  except  the  builders  has  ever  climbed 
that  tower — you  cast  yourself  down,  and  when 
you  light  softly  on  the  marble  pavement,  un¬ 
hurt  in  the  least  degree,  the  multitude  will  at 
once  receive  you  as  the  One  long  promised. 
No  man  could  cast  himself  from  that  pinnacle 
without  being  broken  and  crushed  to  death. 
But  if  you  do  it,  your  claim  as  the  Son  of  God 
will  be  established  at  once.  Let  the  people  see 
in  this  supreme  miracle  with  what  power 
you  have  been  invested  and  instantly  they  will 
recognize  you  as  the  Messiah.” 

It  was  very  artful,  strangely  plausible,  and 
so  subtle  that  with  any  other  one  but  the 
Master  it  would  have  succeeded. 

Again  his  thoughts  flashed  back  to  distant 
years.  He  had  not  read  the  Scriptures  in  vain. 
Immediately  he  recalled  times  and  places  where 
the  people  had  been  proud  of  their  strength, 
arrogant  in  their  assumption  of  divine  support, 
taken  unfair  advantage  of  the  promised  help  of 
God,  and  actually  presumed  upon  the  fact  that 
he  had  chosen  them  specially  as  his  own.  They 
had  been  tempted  in  a  wilderness,  just  as  he 
was  being  tempted,  only  they  had  fallen; 
yielded  to  the  subtle,  alluring  snare.  Hence 
they  were  bitten  by  serpents.  Death  in  vari¬ 
ous  forms  came  upon  them.  Even  Moses  was 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


45 


denied  the  land  of  promise.  To  win  his  way 
into  the  Messiahship  by  a  daring  leap  from  the 
Temple  pinnacle  would  seem  to  save  years  of 
toil  and  sacrifice,  but  better  that  than  pre¬ 
sumption,  or  a  spectacular  display  of  miracu¬ 
lous  power,  a  display  that  would  only  excite 
passing  wonder  and  effect  no  real  good. 

So  again  the  Master  answered,  ‘Tt  is  written. 
Thou  shalt  not  tempt  the  Lord  thy  God.” 

There  was  something  so  calm,  so  strong,  so 
much  of  quiet  confidence  in  the  Master’s  reply 
that  the  Tempter  knew  he  had  failed  in  his 
purpose.  Still  he  would  not  give  up.  There 
was  too  much  at  stake.  To  be  beaten  now 
meant  utter  defeat  sooner  or  later.  It  was 
only  a  question  of  time.  If  this  young  Gali- 
laean,  here  in  the  wilderness,  weary  with  the 
soul  struggle  of  forty  days,  pale  and  worn 
through  ceaseless  nights  of  agony  and  prayer, 
enfeebled  by  hunger  and  exposure,  should  win 
now,  what  supreme  victories  would  be  his  in 
days  to  come! 

So,  recognizing  that  the  Master’s  claim  to 
the  Messiahship  could  be  no  longer  doubted, 
he  suggested  something  far  more  startling  than 
changing  stones  into  bread  or  leaping  from  the 
pinnacle  of  the  Temple. 

“Why  not  go  to  Mount  Pisgah,  where  Moses 
had  a  view  of  the  promised  land,  or,  better 


46 


THE  MASTER 


still,  to  Mount  Hermon,  which  has  a  wider 
range  for  the  eye,  and  I  will  show  you  the 
kingdoms  now  under  my  sway.  I  govern  them; 
they  are  mine.  Now,  all  this  power  will  I  give 
thee  and  the  glory  of  them,  for  that  is  deliv¬ 
ered  unto  me,  and  to  whomsoever  I  will  I  give 
it.  If  thou,  therefore,  wilt  worship  me,  all 
shall  be  thine.” 

Not  since  the  world  had  a  beginning  was 
ever  such  bribe  held  out  to  a  human  soul.  And 
the  Master  was  never  more  human  than  at 
that  moment.  Human  desires  moved  in  his 
soul.  Human  ambitions  stirred  in  his  heart. 
Human  blood  throbbed  in  his  veins.  Human 
hunger  was  ravaging  his  body.  He  leaned  for¬ 
ward  and  looked  searchingly  into  the  Tempt¬ 
er’s  face,  to  be  certain  he  had  heard  aright, 
that  the  offer  just  made  was  not  a  wild,  un¬ 
meaning  boast.  But  the  face  into  which  he 
looked  assured  him  that  the  amazing  proposal 
presented  so  alluringly  had  back  of  it  all  the 
resources  of  the  kingdom  of  darkness.  Drops 
of  blood  then  began  to  gather  on  his  forehead. 
A  strange  anxiety  entered  his  heart.  Might 
not  this  open  a  way,  by  which  the  tragedy  of 
the  cross  could  be  averted.^  Perhaps  he  has 
misunderstood  the  dreams  and  visions  of  his 
early  years  in  Nazareth.  What  if  he  had  taken 
from  the  words  of  John  a  meaning  which  was 


THE  MASTER  TEMPTED 


47 


never  intended?  It  was  possible  that  all  of  the 
divine  purpose  had  not  been  revealed  to  him. 
In  an  agony  of  prayer  he  looked  to  the  starlit 
sky  hoping  for  a  sign,  but  none  was  given.  He 
listened  longingly  for  a  voice  such  as  that  he 
had  heard  in  Jordan,  but  no  voice  broke  the 
awful  silence  of  that  hour.  The  blood  drops, 
which  in  the  beginning  had  gathered  only  on 
his  brow,  now  covered  his  face,  so  intense  was 
the  struggle  raging  in  his  soul.  In  the  dim 
light  the  face  of  the  Tempter  seemed  full  of 
fiendish  delight,  for  he  could  see  the  fearful 
strain  under  which  the  Master  was  laboring, 
and  was  confident  he  would  yield  in  the  end. 
But  in  order  to  make  certain,  he  broke  the 
desert  silence  by  saying: 

“If  you  refuse,  all  hell,  from  this  hour,  will 
be  against  you.  I  will  have  you  persecuted 
the  day  you  begin  your  ministry.  The  priests, 
the  elders,  the  scribes,  will  follow  you  with 
unrelenting  hate.  If  you  work  any  miracles, 
I  will  have  it  said  you  are  in  league  with  me. 
Every  claim  you  make  as  the  Messiah  will  be 
laughed  to  scorn.  You  will  be  denounced  as  a 
deceiver.  You  will  be  doubted,  deceived,  be¬ 
trayed,  crucified,  and  all  for  a  people  who  are 
not  worthy,  who  deserve  nothing  at  your 
hands,  and  who  would  rather  live  as  they  are; 
for  they  have  no  desire  for  such  a  gospel  as 


48 


THE  MASTER 


yours.  Why  not  bow  the  knee  to  me?  We  are 
alone,  no  one  will  see,  no  one  need  know.  Go 
back  to  Nazareth.  Give  up  this  wild  notion 
about  redeeming  the  world.  The  world  has  no 
wish  to  be  redeemed.  And  if  it  had  how  could 
you  redeem  it?  You  are  a  mere  village  car¬ 
penter,  without  friends  or  influence.  People 
will  say  you  are  mad.” 

The  Tempter  stopped  abruptly.  He  saw 
something  more  than  blood  on  the  face  of  the 
Master.  He  saw  such  a  flame  in  his  eyes  as 
made  him  tremble.  Then  in  a  voice  Godlike 
in  its  imperious  demand  he  heard  him  say, 
“Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,  for  it  is  written. 
Thou  shalt  worship  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  him 
only  shalt  thou  serve.” 

The  fearful  struggle  was  over.  The  terrible 
battle  was  fought  and  won;  but  He  who  had 
won  the  battle  was  so  spent,  so  drained  of 
energy  and  strength,  that  only  the  angels  of 
God  could  minister  to  him. 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


*  ASTER,”  said  Alary,  looking  over  to 

i  Y  I  where  Jesus  was  quietly  resting — for 
he  was  weary  after  a  long,  hard  day, 
and  had  returned  from  Jerusalem  to  Bethany 
— ‘T  saw  Nicodemus  in  the  city  not  long  ago, 
and  he  seemed  anxious  to  meet  you,  and  asked 
me  to  arrange  for  some  evening  when  he  might 
call  and  speak  with  you.” 

‘"And  who  is  Nicodemus.f^”  Jesus  replied,  in 
that  rich,  mellow  voice  which  he  always  used 
when  speaking  to  those  who  were  dear  to  him. 

“Nicodemus  is  a  member  of  the  Council; 
he  is  a  prominent  Pharisee;  he  is  highly  re¬ 
garded  by  all  who  know  him,  and  has  a  large 
circle  of  friends,”  Mary  answered.  “Lazarus 
often  speaks  of  him,  and  always  in  terms  of 
respect.  He  is  kindly  to  everyone,  and  very 
generous,  especially  to  the  poor.” 

“Why  does  he  wish  to  see  me?”  Jesus  asked, 
in  the  same  tone  as  before. 

Mary  smiled  before  saying:  “Naturally,  he 
would  want  to  see  you.  Being  one  of  the 
Council,  he  was  soon  informed  of  how  you  had 
driven  out  the  buyers  and  sellers  from  the 
Temple  and  overturned  -the  money-changers’ 

49 


50 


THE  MASTER 


tables.  1  He  said  to  Lazarus  it  was  a  daring 
thing  to  do,  and  he  was  glad  you  had  done  it.” 

“That  was  rather  an  exciting  day,”  Jesus 
said,  in  a  low,  grave  voice,  though  a  faint 
smile  could  be  seen,  as  if  there  were  something 
humorous  in  his  memory  of  the  angry  but 
frightened  men  chasing  each  other  out  of  the 
Temple  courtyard. 

“Nicodemus  had  also  heard  of  you  being  at 
a  wedding  in  Cana  of  Galilee,  when  it  was  said 
you  changed  water  into  wine.  He  met  Martha 
the  other  day  in  Jerusalem  and  spoke  of  it  to 
her.” 

Again  Jesus  smiled.  He  remembered  that 
Martha  was  the  housekeeper,  and  the  incident 
at  the  wedding  would  appeal  to  her. 

Mary  went  on:  “He  has  talked  quite  freely 
with  Peter  and  John,  John  specially,  asking 
all  manner  of  questions  about  you.  He  has  an 
idea  you  are  a  prophet  of  some  kind,  but  is 
afraid  the  people  may  misunderstand  your 
teaching  and  have  an  impression  that  you  are 
the  Messiah.  In  that  case  he  fears  there  would 
be  serious  trouble.” 

Mary’s  voice  almost  broke,  for  she  had 
learned  to  love  with  all  the  wealth  of  her  soul 
this  young  Carpenter  of  Nazareth.  That  any 
harm  should  come  to  him  was  more  than  she 
could  bear  even  to  think  of. 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


51 


Jesus  instantly  detected  the  stress  under 
which  Mary  spoke,  for  he  tenderly  loved  her, 
and  also  Martha  and  Lazarus.  “When  is  Nico- 
demus  likely  to  come.?”  he  asked,  in  an  easy, 
familiar  way,  evidently  with  the  purpose  of 
relieving  Mary  from  the  anxiety  which  for  the 
moment  disturbed  her. 

“I  said  he  might  come  this  evening,  but  I 
didn’t  know  when  speaking  to  him  that  you 
were  going  to  have  such  a  long,  hard  day. 
Please  let  me  send  him  word  by  Lazarus  that 
you  are  weary,  and  cannot  meet  him  until 
another  time.”  Mary  looked  wistfully  as  she 
spoke. 

“Ah!  Mary,”  said  Jesus,  and  this  time  his 
voice  was  even  more  rich  and  mellow.  “I  am 
never  too  weary  to  meet  an  earnest,  inquiring 
soul.  All  I  ask  is  that  those  who  come  shall  be 
sincere.  It  is  my  meat  and  my  drink  to  meet 
such  people,  and  the  greater  their  need,  the 
greater  is  my  desire  to  help  them.  You  think 
Nicodemus  is  sincere,  that  he  is  not  prompted 
by  mere  curiosity,  and  that  he  is  really  anxious 
to  learn  of  my  teachings.?  If  so,  why  does  he 
come  at  night.?  Why  not  be  present  at  some 
of  the  public  services?  I  teach  almost  daily  in 
the  Temple,  and  it  is  my  regular  custom  to 
attend  the  synagogue.  Surely  it  cannot  be,  if 
he  is  sincere,  that  he  is  afraid  or  ashamed  to 


52 


THE  MASTER 


meet  me  in  the  daytime.  Perhaps,  Mary,  he 
is  not  so  much  in  earnest  as  you  think,  and 
the  motive  back  of  his  desire  not  just  what 
you  imagine  it  is.” 

‘T  don’t  think  Nicodemus  is  afraid  or 
ashamed,  but  he  is  a  very  timid  man,”  Mary 
said.  ‘‘He  has  the  name  of  being  cautious, 
overprudent  perhaps;  then  he  is  comparatively 
old,  and  you  know.  Master,  that  old  people 
are  disposed  to  be  guarded  and  careful  in  their 
ways.” 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence,  Jesus 
meanwhile  looking  at  the  gathering  twilight. 
Then  Mary  spoke  again:  “I  think  Nicodemus 
is  wise  in  coming  at  night.  Being  a  member 
of  the  Council,  his  opinions  carry  great  weight; 
people  look  up  to  him,  follow  his  example,  and 
are  guided  largely  by  what  he  says  and  does. 
Now,  isn’t  it  much  better  that  he  come  and 
hear  from  your  own  mouth  the  things  you  are 
teaching,  so  that  when  he  is  asked  he  can  make 
proper  reply?” 

While  Mary  was  speaking  Jesus  gave  her  a 
rarely  beautiful  smile,  then  said:  “You  are  in¬ 
deed  my  disciple,  for  I  teach,  ‘Judge  not,  that 
ye  be  not  judged,’  and  ‘with  what  measure  ye 
mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to  you  again.’ 
Some  people  would  have  said  Nicodemus  was 
a  coward  in  proposing  to  come  at  night,  and 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


53 


so  misjudged  him.  Instead  you  offer  an  ex¬ 
planation.  The  world  generally  does  the  other 
thing — looks  for  something  to  censure,  to  find 
fault  with,  to  complain  of,  and  very  rarely 
looks  for  what  is  best.” 

Soon  Martha  came  in,  busy  and  bustling  as 
usual,  for  she  had  charge  of  the  home;  later 
Lazarus  came  from  the  city,  to  which  he  went 
on  business  every  day,  returning  in  time  for 
the  evening  meal. 

Shortly  after  moonrise  a  man  might  have 
been  seen  to  leave  his  home,  which  was  on  a 
street  not  far  from  the  Temple,  and  wend  his 
way  to  the  outskirts  of  Jerusalem,  using  the 
road  which  Jesus  would  use  on  the  first  day  of 
the  Passion  Week,  and  after  a  walk  of  about 
two  miles,  come  to  the  village  of  Bethany. 
Though  this  man  was  of  the  wealthy  class,  and 
could  have  been  attended  by  a  servant,  he  was 
alone;  for  the  errand  on  which  he  was  going 
was  not  one  in  which  his  household  retainers 
might  share.  He  was  well  along  in  years, 
but  his  step  was  firm,  yet  not  rapid;  indeed, 
his  every  movement  was  quiet  and  thoughtful. 
It  was  bright  moonlight  when  Nicodemus — for 
it  was  he — reached  the  home  of  Lazarus,  and 
Mary  opened  the  door,  admitting  him  to  the 
household  where  Jesus  was  an  honored  guest. 

“Master,”  said  Nicodemus,  after  Mary  had 


54 


THE  MASTER 


presented  him,  ‘T  am  indeed  grateful  for  the 
privilege  of  meeting  you.  So  far  I  have  not 
been  able  to  be  present  in  the  Temple  at  any 
of  the  times  when  you  have  been  teaching,  but 
I  have  heard  of  you  in  so  many  ways  that  I 
have  been  constrained  to  come  and  see  and 
hear  for  myself.” 

‘‘What  have  you  heard Jesus  asked,  and 
so  pleasantly  that  Nicodemus  looked  at  him 
with  surprise.  He  had  come  prepared  to  meet 
a  man  like  John  the  Baptist,  with  a  rough, 
harsh  voice,  stern,  forbidding  manner,  ready  to 
denounce  angrily  any  who  differed  from  his 
teachings.  Instead  he  saw  a  young  man  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  with  a  bearing  digni¬ 
fied  and  courtly  as  his  own,  a  tender,  expressive 
face;  in  every  way  different  from  the  person  he 
had  imagined  Jesus  to  be. 

Nicodemus  hesitated.  He  could  not  well  tell 
Jesus,  at  this  first  interview,  and  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  Mary  (for  Martha  had  gone  to  attend 
to  her  household  duties,  and  Lazarus  was  busy 
with  some  concerns  of  his  own),  all  of  the 
things  he  had  heard  regarding  this  Nazarene. 
For  some  of  these  things  were  far  from  pleas¬ 
ant.  Angry,  even  fierce,  discussions  had  al¬ 
ready  taken  place  in  the  Council,  and  some  of 
the  members  were  exceedingly  bitter  in  their 
denunciations,  classing  Jesus  as  one  of  the 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


55 


most  dangerous  and  willful  deceivers  Judaea  had 
ever  known.  Nicodemus  had  been  present  at 
several  meetings  of  the  Council  when  the  very 
name  of  Jesus  seemed  to  arouse  the  most  in¬ 
tense  passion;  when  he  was  branded  as  an 
impostor,  and  his  miracles  spoken  of  as  the 
work  of  the  devil.  Then  the  priests,  some  high 
in  authority,  were  furious  because  Christ  had 
driven  out  the  buyers  and  sellers  from  the 
Temple,  for  they  were  in  league  with  these 
men  and  shared  their  vile  profits.  In  this 
angry  whirl  and  tempest  Nicodemus  took  no 
part,  but  heard  and  saw  all  the  more  because 
he  was  not  drawn  into  the  strife.  So  he  hesi¬ 
tated  when  asked  concerning  what  he  had 
heard.  He  looked  at  Mary  and  wondered  if 
he  might  frankly  answer  the  question  of  Jesus. 
Then  he  remembered  that  Jesus  was  her  guest; 
to  speak,  therefore,  with  any  degree  of  freedom 
would  outrage  her  hospitality.  So  the  question 
was  not  answered.  But  Nicodemus  had  not 
lived  so  many  years  in  vain.  Nor  had  he  failed 
to  take  advantage  of  his  membership  in  the 
Council.  Hence  he  was  suave,  bland,  gracious, 
and  possessed  of  a  full  measure  of  Oriental 
courtesy.  So  instead  of  telling  Jesus  any  of 
the  things  he  had  heard,  he  said,  in  his  deferen¬ 
tial  and  courtly  way:  “Master,  we  know  that 
thou  art  a  teacher  come  from  God;  for  no  man 


56 


THE  MASTER 


can  do  these  miracles  that  thou  doest  except 
God  be  with  him/’ 

Now,  any  member  of  the  Council  might  have 
heard  him  make  that  courteous  remark,  for  it 
really  meant  nothing  more  than  a  kindly  salu¬ 
tation.  If  Christ  answered  in  like  manner, 
then  the  way  was  open  for  a  frank  discussion 
of  the  Messiahship,  for  which  he  had  come 
thoroughly  prepared.  In  fact,  ever  since  he 
had  arranged  with  Mary  for  this  interview, 
Nicodemus  gave  all  his  spare  time,  and  some 
he  couldn’t  spare,  to  a  careful  study  of  the 
Prophets,  and  their  predictions  concerning  the 
coming  Messiah.  Not  content  with  this,  he 
had  talked  at  length  with  the  older  members 
of  the  Council,  going  even  to  some  of  the  chief 
priests.  He  had  also  made  diligent  inquiries 
about  Jesus,  sending  special  agents  to  Naza¬ 
reth,  who  carefully  gathered  up  every  item  of 
information,  which  was  quietly  forwarded  to 
him.  Through  these  agents  he  learned  that 
Jesus  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  when  Joseph  and 
Mary,  his  mother,  had  gone  to  be  taxed,  as  the 
law  required;  that  when  he  was  twelve  years  of 
age  he  went  to  Jerusalem  with  his  parents  to 
keep  the  Passover,  and  that  while  there  he  had 
gone  to  the  Temple,  astonishing  the  rabbis 
with  his  questions  and  answers.  He  also 
learned  that  Joseph  was  a  carpenter  in  Naza- 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


57 


reth,  and  that  Jesus  made  his  home  with  him 
and  worked  in  the  same  shop.  These  agents 
did  not  fail  to  tell  Nicodemus  of  Jesus  being 
baptized  by  John  in  the  Jordan,  when,  it  was 
said,  a  beautiful  bird,  a  dove  some  thought, 
descended  from  heaven  and  lighted  on  him, 
and  that  there  was  a  great  Voice  which  said, 
“This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well 
pleased.”  They  were  careful  also  to  say  that 
the  next  day  after  this  baptism  they  saw  John 
the  Baptist  point  directly  to  Jesus,  then  say, 
“Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world.” 

All  these  things  caused  Nicodemus  much 
perplexity.  He  couldn’t  understand  how  the 
Messiah,  or  even  a  prophet,  was  possible  in 
such  a  place  as  Nazareth;  for  Nazareth  was  a 
byword,  and  was  held  in  general  contempt. 
Still,  he  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that 
Jesus  was  something  more  than  an  ordinary 
man,  else  how  could  he  perform  the  miracles 
which  people  said  he  did? 

It  was  therefore  with  much  disturbance  of 
mind  he  came  to  the  house  of  Lazarus.  Still 
he  was  determined  not  to  commit  himself  in 
anywise.  As  a  ruler  of  the  Jews  he  felt  his 
responsibility.  Hence  his  very  careful  though 
courteous  salutation. 

Jesus  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments  with 


58 


THE  MASTER 


such  a  look  as  he  had  never  experienced  before 
— a  look  that  seemed  to  read  the  thoughts  and 
intents  of  his  heart;  then  in  a  voice,  mild  but 
emphatic,  he  said:  “Nicodemus,  you  came  here 
to  talk  with  me  about  the  Messiahship,  to  find 
out  if  my  claims  are  justified.  You  would  like 
now  to  discuss  the  matter.  You  are  a  ruler  of 
the  Jews.  You  are  familiar  with  the  Law  and 
the  Prophets.  It  would  please  you  to  go  back 
to  the  Council  and  be  able  to  say  that  you  had 
held  an  argument  with  the  man  from  Nazareth, 
and  in  that  argument  had  maintained  the 
opinion  of  the  Council  regarding  me  and  my 
work.  But” — and  here  the  voice  of  Jesus  be¬ 
came  stronger  and  more  resonant — “Nicodemus, 
what  I  am  about  to  say  is  of  more  value  than 
all  the  traditions  of  your  Council,  all  of  the 
laws  provided  for  the  services  in  the  Temple, 
all  of  the  customs  which  now  prevail  among 
the  people;  for  in  most  solemn  truth  I  tell  you 
that  unless  a  man  is  born  anew  he  cannot  see 
the  kingdom  of  God.” 

Nicodemus  started  from  his  chair  and  looked 
in  amazement  at  Jesus.  He  had  never  heard 
anything  like  this  in  all  his  life.  Surely,  Jesus 
had  not  spoken  seriously.  What  could  he  pos¬ 
sibly  mean.?  Instantly  there  flashed  upon  him 
hints  and  suggestions,  made  in  the  Council, 
respecting  the  sanity  of  the  Nazarene.  But 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


59 


Jesus  stood  there  calm,  collected,  with  no  sign 
of  undue  excitement  other  than  intense  inter¬ 
est.  And  that  interest  was  felt  rather  than 
seen,  and  even  Nicodemus,  amazed  as  he  was, 
could  only  admire  the  serene  bearing  and  quiet 
dignity  of  the  One  who  had  so  startled  him. 

Forgetful  for  the  moment  of  his  surround¬ 
ings,  Nicodemus  asked  in  a  tone  almost  vehe¬ 
ment:  ‘‘How  can  a  man  be  born  when  he  is 
old.^  It  is  impossible!  Such  a  thing  has  not 
happened  since  the  world  began.  Children  are 
born,  not  men.  Men  grow  old  and  die;  never 
can  they  be  born  again.” 

There  was  no  mistaking  both  the  earnest¬ 
ness  and  disappointment  in  the  voice  of  Nico¬ 
demus.  There  was  also  a  strain  of  disapproval. 
He  had  come  here  with  the  hope  of  a  serious, 
rational  conversation,  trusting  to  form  such 
impressions  and  reach  such  conclusions  as 
would  enable  him  to  enlighten  his  fellow  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  Council;  and  now  he  is  told  that 
councils  and  temples  and  ordinances  are  prac¬ 
tically  valueless,  and  that  a  man  must  be  born 
again  before  he  can  even  see  the  kingdom  of 
God.  To  be  frank,  Nicodemus  was  on  the 
verge  of  anger. 

Again  Jesus  looked  at  Nicodemus,  and  this 
time  perhaps  more  intently  than  before.  For 
a  little  while  the  room  was  strangely  still. 


60 


THE  MASTER 


Mary  sat  where  she  could  see  the  faces  of  the 
two  men,  the  one  almost  pale  with  excitement, 
the  other  calm  and  confident.  At  length  Jesus 
spoke,  repeating  substantially  what  he  had  al¬ 
ready  said,  then  adding  a  few  words  to  make 
it  even  more  impressive. 

“How  can  these  things  be?”  Nicodemus 
asked,  still  more  puzzled  and  bewildered. 

“You,  Nicodemus,  are  talking  about  the 
birth  of  the  body;  I  am  talking  about  the 
birth  of  the  soul,  and  again  I  tell  you,  in  most 
solemn  truth,  that  unless  the  soul  is  born 
anew,  born  of  the  spirit,  born  from  above, 
that  soul  cannot  enter  the  kingdom  of  God. 
Nearly  everything  in  your  form  of  religion, 
Nicodemus,  relates  only  to  the  body.  You 
wash  your  hands  before  sitting  down  to  meat, 
but  does  that  washing  affect  your  heart?  You 
stand  praying  on  the  street  corners,  but  that 
is  only  to  be  seen  of  men.  You  wash  the  out¬ 
side  of  the  cup  and  platter  when  it  is  the  inside 
you  should  care  for.  You  are  like  the  whited 
sepulchers  which  we  see — pleasant  to  the  eye, 
but  inwardly  full  of  corruption.  When  you 
present  your  offerings  at  the  Temple  you  make 
certain  the  Levite  is  there  to  sound  the  trum¬ 
pet.  And  all  the  while,  Nicodemus,  the  soul 
has  never  so  much  as  seen  the  kingdom  of 
God.” 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


61 


Jesus  paused,  not,  however,  for  lack  of 
speech,  for  the  people  had  said,  after  hearing 
him,  “Never  man  spake  like  this  man,”  but 
he  saw  that  Nicodemus  was  profoundly  af¬ 
fected  and  distressed  as  well.  As  a  Pharisee, 
a  member  of  the  Council,  he  realized  that  the 
charges  made  by  Jesus  were  fearfully  true. 
Religion  had  become  a  matter  of  mere  form. 
It  had  no  reality,  no  spirit,  no  divine  life.  It 
had  no  vital  relation  to  the  soul.  He  had  felt 
this  in  himself.  But  to  have  all  these  things 
brought  home  to  him  so  fearlessly  by  this 
young  Nazarene  was  a  humiliation  not  at  all 
pleasant. 

“Nicodemus,”  said  Jesus,  now  speaking  very 
tenderly,  “you  are  not  to  blame  for  these 
things.  It  is  because  the  real  nature  of  reli¬ 
gion  has  not  been  understood.  That  which  is 
flesh  is  flesh;  that  which  is  spirit  is  spirit; 
they  are  entirely  distinct  from  each  other.  In 
my  very  first  sermon  I  said,  ‘Blessed  are  the 
pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God.’  But 
how  can  we  have  a  pure  heart  unless  we  are 
born  again?  There  isn’t  any  other  way.  You 
may  not  know  the  human  heart  as  I  do,  for 
up  there  in  Nazareth,  under  the  grace  of  God’s 
Holy  Spirit,  I  saw  what  was  in  the  natural 
heart — evil  thoughts,  murders,  adulteries,  for¬ 
nications,  thefts,  false  witness,  blasphemies; 


62 


THE  MASTER 


and  now  let  me  ask  you  are  these  things  to  be 
removed  by  the  washing  of  hands,  the  wearing 
of  special  garments,  or  by  making  offerings  at 
the  Temple  gate?” 

Then  there  was  another  pause,  each  person 
in  the  room  quietly  thinking,  for  all  felt  the 
deep  solemnity  of  the  hour.  Jesus  moved 
gently  to  the  door,  that  he  might  better  see 
the  glory  of  the  night.  And  the  silence  out¬ 
doors  was  akin  to  the  silence  in  the  house. 
The  birds  were  sleeping  in  their  nests.  Not  a 
leaf  was  stirring  on  the  trees.  There  wasn’t 
breath  enough  to  flicker  the  moonbeams  fall¬ 
ing  from  a  cloudless  sky.  Nicodemus  also 
moved  to  the  door,  for  he  also  felt  the  spell  of 
the  night. 

Then  a  light  wind  began  to  blow,  growing 
stronger  with  each  moment,  until  the  trees,  the 
flowers,  even  the  grass,  were  stirred  into  life, 
when  Jesus  turned  to  Nicodemus  and  said: 
“The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou 
hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it  goeth.  So  is 
everyone  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit.  Marvel 
not  that  I  said  unto  thee.  Ye  must  be  born 
again.” 

This  time  the  face  of  Nicodemus  showed  his 
deep  perplexity.  He  couldn’t  understand  what 
Jesus  meant.  He  knew  that  the  prophet 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


63 


Ezekiel  had  a  vision  of  a  valley  of  dry  bones, 
a  vast  army  of  skeleton  forms  from  which  all 
life  had  departed,  and  that  into  this  valley  a 
mysterious  wind  had  come,  a  divine  breath, 
which  caused  these  bones  to  waken  into  life 
and  transform  each  skeleton  into  a  living  man, 
standing  erect  and  ready  for  service.  But, 
surely,  that  prophecy  had  no  relation  to  the 
things  of  which  Jesus  had  spoken. 

There  was  something  of  a  smile  on  the  face 
of  Jesus  when  he  said,  “Art  thou  a  master  of 
Israel,  Nicodemus,  and  knowest  not  these 
things?  You  remember  the  serpent  in  the 
wilderness,  when  the  people  because  of  their 
sin  and  ingratitude  were  bitten  by  fiery  ser¬ 
pents  and  poisoned  so  that  many  of  them  died, 
and  Moses  was  commanded  to  make  a  serpent 
of  brass,  set  it  on  a  pole,  and  anyone  that  was 
bitten,  no  matter  how  badly,  had  only  to  look 
on  that  brazen  serpent  and  immediately  the 
poison  would  leave  him.  Now,  you  know, 
Nicodemus,  there  was  no  virtue  whatever  in 
that  serpent  of  brass.  In  itself  it  could  do 
nothing  to  relieve  the  poison.  But  their  look¬ 
ing  at  that  serpent  meant  that  they  repented 
of  their  sin,  that  their  sin  was  leading  them  to 
death,  that  they  must  have  help  from  God, 
else  they  would  perish.  It  was  not  the  serpent 
that  saved  them;  it  was  their  faith  in  God.” 


64j 


THE  MASTER 


Jesus  here  looked  questioningly  at  Nico- 
demus,  who  had  listened  intently  to  every 
word. 

‘‘Of  course  there  was  no  healing  power  in 
the  serpent,”  Nicodemus  answered;  “it  was 
only  a  symbol  of  the  grace  and  mercy  of  God.” 

“Yes” — and  here  Jesus  spoke  with  strange 
impressiveness — “but  it  had  a  far  larger  mean¬ 
ing  than  many  have  given  to  it.  That  serpent, 
Nicodemus,  was  not  only  a  symbol  of  God’s 
power  to  heal  and  save  in  the  wilderness;  it  was 
a  type  of  something  greater  yet  to  come,  for  as 
Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
even  so  must  the  Son  of  man  be  lifted  up,  that 
whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.” 

“You  mean  then  that  the  poison  caused  by 
the  bite  of  the  serpent  represents  the  corrupt 
heart  of  which  you  spoke  a  moment  ago,  a 
poison  which  cannot  be  removed  by  human 
means,  and  can  only  be  taken  away  by  God?” 
A  note  of  anxiety  was  manifest  in  the  voice  of 
Nicodemus  as  he  asked  this  question. 

“That  is  just  what  I  mean,”  Jesus  replied. 
“There  is  no  human  agency  that  can  change 
the  naturally  evil  heart.  David  said  that  he 
was  shapen  in  iniquity;  Job  asked,  ‘Who  can 
bring  a  clean  thing  out  of  an  unclean?’  Isaiah 
spoke  of  men,  referring  to  the  heart,  as  being 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


65 


full  of  wounds  and  bruises  and  putrifying 
sores;  and  Ezekiel  compares  the  heart  to  a 
stone — dead,  cold,  bloodless.  Nicodemus,  your 
ceremonies  and  washings  and  ordinances  are 
just  like  that  serpent  in  the  wilderness;  they 
are  only  symbols,  and  unless  through  them 
you  reach  the  grace  and  spirit  of  God,  they 
are  of  no  value  whatever.  The  prophet,  you 
remember,  said,  ‘This  people  draw  near  me 
with  their  mouth,  they  honour  me  with  their 
lips,  but  their  heart  is  far  from  me.’  ” 

Being  a  ruler  in  Israel,  Nicodemus  was  fa¬ 
miliar  with  the  prophets,  and  it  amazed  him 
to  hear  Jesus  quote  from  the  Scriptures  with 
such  ease  and  accuracy.  How  did  he  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  Hebrew,  for  that  was  not  his 
native  tongue.^  And  he  seemed  to  have  a  per¬ 
fect  understanding  of  what  the  prophets  meant. 
Leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  resting  both 
hands  on  his  staff,  Nicodemus  looked  at  Jesus 
with  strange  intentness.  To  think  that  a  young 
Nazarene  could  have  such  vision,  speak  so  con¬ 
fidently,  yet  without  the  least  pride  or  self- 
assertion,  surprised  him  beyond  measure. 

‘T  said  that  a  man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of 
God  must  be  born  again — born  of  water  and  of 
the  Spirit” — Jesus  now  spoke  with  deep  feel¬ 
ing — “and  that  will  remind  you,  Nicodemus, 
of  the  prophecy,  Tn  that  day  there  shall  be  a 


66 


THE  MASTER 


fountain  opened  to  the  house  of  David  and  to 
the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem  for  sin  and  for 
uncleanness.’  That  day  has  come,  for  God 
has  sent  his  Son.” 

“His  Son!”  Nicodemus  exclaimed. 

“Yes,  his  Son,  his  only-begotten  Son,  the 
Son  in  whom  he  is  well  pleased.” 

Here  there  flashed  into  the  mind  of  Nico¬ 
demus  the  incident  of  the  Voice  from  heaven, 
when  Jesus  was  being  baptized  in  the  Jordan. 

“And  the  coming  of  that  Son  is  not  to  con¬ 
demn  the  world,  but  that  the  world  through 
him  might  be  saved.  O  when  will  the  world 
come  to  know  anything  of  the  infinite  love  of 
God?  This  is  the  condemnation,  Nicodemus, 
that  light  is  come  into  the  world,  and  men 
loved  darkness  rather  than  light;  but,  remem¬ 
ber,  to  as  many  as  receive  him,  God’s  Son,  to 
them  is  given  power  also  to  become  the  sons 
of  God,  for  they  are  born,  not  of  blood,  nor  of 
the  will  of  the  flesh,  nor  of  the  will  of  man, 
but  of  God.  So  before  one  can  enter,  or  even 
see,  the  kingdom  of  God  he  must  be  born 
again.” 

At  this  moment  Martha  entered  the  room, 
not  in  her  usual  noisy,  bustling  way,  but 
quietly  sitting  down  beside  Mary,  who  had 
listened  eagerly  to  the  entire  conversation. 

Then  Lazarus  came  in,  also  very  quietly. 


CHRIST  AND  NICODEMUS 


67 


taking  a  seat  near  to  that  of  Nicodemus.  A 
sacred  hush  seemed  to  fall  on  the  little  com¬ 
pany  which  Jesus,  after  a  whispered  word  to 
Nicodemus,  broke  by  saying:  “O  righteous 
Father,  the  world  hath  not  known  thee,  but  I 
have  known  thee,  and  these  have  known  that 
thou  hast  sent  me.  All  things  are  delivered 
unto  me  of  my  Father,  and  no  man  knoweth 
the  Son  but  the  Father.  I  thank  thee,  O 
Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  because 
thou  hast  revealed  these  things  unto  us.” 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  when  Nico¬ 
demus  said,  “God  be  merciful  unto  us  and 
bless  us  and  cause  his  face  to  shine  upon  us. 
That  thy  way  may  be  known  upon  earth,  thy 
saving  health  among  all  nations.” 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM^EUS 


OMETHING  evidently  had  gone  wrong 
with  Zebedee — and  he  showed  it  on  his 
face,  in  his  manner,  by  his  speech. 

“John,”  he  said,  gruffly,  “that  catch  of  fish 
last  night  was  very  small.  And  it  was  a  good 
night  for  fishing.  We  should  have  had  at  least 
enough  to  pay  us  for  our  going  out.  And 
nearly  all  we  got  was  of  the  large,  unclean 
kind,  which  bring  almost  nothing  in  the  mar¬ 
ket.  We  didn’t  do  half  as  well  as  Peter.  And 
usually  we  do  far  better.” 

“The  trouble  was  with  the  nets,”  John  an¬ 
swered,  in  a  clearer,  stronger  voice  than  his 
father’s.  John’s  voice  was  so  powerful,  also 
that  of  his  brother  James,  that  in  after  days 
they  were  called  Boanerges — “sons  of  thun¬ 
der.” 

“The  nets  were  broken  in  two  or  three 
places,”  James  said,  as  he  came  up  from  the 
cottage  close  by  with  some  stout  twine  in  his 
hand.  James  was  a  big,  husky  fellow,  tanned 
and  weather-beaten,  as  fishermen  usually  are. 

“You  should  have  seen  to  the  nets  before 
we  went  out.  It  is  a  shame  to  waste  a  whole 
night  in  such  fashion.  But  I  have  noticed 

68 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM^US 


69 


ever  since  you  went  to  hear  that  strange 
prophet,  John,  the  son  of  Zecharias,  you  think 
more  about  him  and  what  he  says  than  about 
your  home  or  your  work.  And  I  don’t  believe 
he  is  a  real  prophet.  Why  doesn’t  he  divide 
the  Jordan  as  Moses  did  the  Red  Sea.^  Why 
doesn’t  he  bring  down  fire  from  heaven  as 
Elijah  did  at  Mount  Carmel.?  From  all  I 
hear  he  just  cries,  ‘Repent  ye,  for  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  at  hand.’  I  call  such  talk  foolish¬ 
ness.  It  is  dangerous.  And  one  of  these  days 
Herod  will  stop  John  from  preaching,  perhaps 
send  him  to  prison.  I  am  surprised  he  has 
allowed  him  to  go  on  so  long.” 

It  was  manifest  from  the  way  Zebedee  spoke 
that  the  work  of  John  the  Baptist  had  not 
deeply  impressed  him.  But  in  this  he  was  not 
alone;  there  was  much  division  of  opinion  re¬ 
garding  the  prophet  of  the  wilderness. 

Gathering  up  such  things  as  they  needed  for 
their  work,  James  and  John  walked  over  to  the 
beach,  where  the  nets  were  drying  in  the  sun. 
Soon  their  rough  but  nimble  fingers  were  busy 
tying,  mending,  lacing,  and  getting  the  nets  in 
readiness  for  the  coming  night.  At  times  John 
would  raise  his  eyes  and  look  across  the  lake 
on  which  the  sunlight  fairly  reveled,  for  the 
waters  of  this  Galilsean  sea  were  both  blue  and 
clear,  but  always  rippling  because  of  the  turbu- 


70 


THE  MASTER 


lent  Jordan,  which  seemed  to  rush  in,  more 
like  a  torrent  than  a  river.  From  where  he 
sat  he  could  see  nearly  all  of  the  cities  which 
bordered  the  lake,  some  of  them  sloping  down 
almost  to  the  water’s  edge.  Though  for  the 
time  a  rough  fisherman,  John  had  the  eye  and 
mind  of  a  poet;  he  never  wearied,  therefore,  of 
the  glory  and  beauty  of  this  sea;  it  appealed 
strangely  to  him,  whether  bathed  in  moonlight 
or  glistening  in  the  sun. 

Looking  in  the  direction  of  Capernaum,  he 
saw  a  young  Man  walking  slowly  along  the 
beach.  Though  too  far  off  for  his  features  to 
be  distinctly  visible,  there  was  something  fa¬ 
miliar  about  his  bearing  and  general  appear¬ 
ance.  As  he  came  nearer  they  both  recognized 
him  as  the  One  they  had  seen  baptized  in  Jor¬ 
dan,  concerning  whom  John  had  spoken  so 
strangely.  Evidently,  he  desired  to  speak  with 
them,  for  he  stopped  at  the  landing  to  which 
their  boat  was  made  fast,  when  they  at  once 
came  ashore. 

‘T  saw  you  at  the  baptism  of  John,”  he  said. 
“You  were  among  his  disciples.  Some  people 
may  think  that  John  is  only  a  reed  shaken  by 
the  wind,  but  I  say,  among  them  that  are  born 
of  woman  there  hath  not  risen  a  greater  than 
John  the  Baptist.  You  saw  me  baptized.^ 
You  remember  what  John  said  the  following 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM.EUS 


71 


day?  And  also  how  he  declared  that  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  was  at  hand?  Well,  I  am 
come  to  bring  in  that  kingdom.  I  want  you 
to  become  my  disciples.  You  are  now  fishers 
in  this  sea.  I  have  a  far  greater  work  for  you. 
Come  with  me,  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of 
men.  Men  are  drowning  in  deeper  seas  than 
this  of  Galilee;  seas  of  unbelief,  of  neglect  of 
God,  and  unless  they  are  saved  from  these 
terrible  seas  they  will  be  lost  eternally.  And 
they  cannot  be  saved  by  any  means  of  their 
own.  To  save  them  my  Father  has  sent  me. 
But  I  cannot  do  this  work  alone.  I  need  dis¬ 
ciples,  those  who  will  help  me  to  save  a  lost, 
sinful  world.  I  want  you,  John;  I  want  you, 
James,  and  I  want  you  now.” 

Zebedee,  leaning  over  the  ship’s  side,  heard 
every  word.  And  though  the  appeal,  if  suc¬ 
cessful,  would  deprive  him  of  his  sons,  and 
leave  him  at  the  mercy  of  hired  servants,  in 
his  heart  he  hoped  they  would  go. 

There  was  something  so  winning  in  the  per¬ 
sonality  of  the  speaker;  he  was  so  earnest,  so 
intense,  and  though  Zebedee  had  no  idea  of 
what  was  really  meant  in  the  appeal,  yet  it 
moved  him  strangely,  far  beyond  anything  he 
had  ever  heard  before.  Then  he  asked,  not, 
though,  in  his  usual  gruff  voice,  “Who  are  you 
and  what  do  you  want  of  my  sons?” 


72 


THE  MASTER 


‘T  am  Jesus  of  Nazareth  and  I  am  calling 
your  sons  to  discipleship.” 

For  a  few  moments  the  brothers  hesitated. 
Then  they  looked  at  their  father,  at  the  boat 
in  which  they  had  so  often  sailed  on  this  same 
sea — more  their  home,  perhaps,  than  their 
house  in  Capernaum;  at  the  nets,  now  mended 
and  lying  on  the  ship’s  deck;  then  at  Jesus, 
whose  face  showed  the  eagerness  of  his  desire. 
Birds  circled  in  the  shining  sky;  boats  moved 
swiftly  across  the  lake,  their  broad  sail  bend¬ 
ing  under  the  freshening  breeze;  fishermen  gave 
each  other  a  friendly  call,  speaking  loudly  as  is 
their  wont;  the  hum  of  life  could  be  heard  from 
the  city  close  at  hand;  and  there  the  four  men 
stood,  each  busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 

At  length  John  spoke:  ‘‘Master,  I  will  follow 
thee.  I  will  be  thy  disciple.” 

Hardly  had  the  words  fallen  from  his  lips 
when  James  said,  “And  I,  Master,  will  follow 
thee.  I  also  will  be  thy  disciple.” 

Jesus  smiled  gratefully.  Zebedee  couldn’t 
smile;  the  going  away  of  his  sons  meant  a  great 
deal  to  him;  yet,  somehow,  he  was  almost  glad 
they  had  decided  to  go  with  the  prophet  of 
Nazareth.  So  they  left  their  father  in  the 
ship,  with  the  hired  servants,  and  went  with 
Jesus. 

Being  naturally  forceful  and  quick-minded. 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIMyEUS 


73 


these  brothers  soon  came  to  be  recognized  as 
earnest,  devoted  disciples  of  Jesus;  they  fol¬ 
lowed  him  closely,  and  entertained  for  him  a 
passionate  affection.  Hence  they  always  re¬ 
sented,  angrily  too,  anything  that  seemed  like 
a  reflection  on  the  Master.  One  day  John  re¬ 
turned  from  a  special  errand  on  which  he  had 
been  sent.  His  eyes  burned  strangely;  there 
was  an  unwonted  flush  on  his  face;  his  whole 
bearing  betrayed  deep  excitement.  This  trou¬ 
bled  Jesus,  for  John  was  one  of  his  chosen 
friends.  So  he  asked  him  about  it. 

With  a  voice  like  that  of  his  fisherman  days 
John  answered:  “Master,  you  sent  me,  with 
James,  to  a  certain  village  of  the  Samaritans, 
where  we  were  to  prepare  for  you,  and  where 
you  could  rest  and  perhaps  spend  the  night. 
Knowing  that  they  had  heard  of  you,  and  of 
the  many  wonderful  things  you  had  done,  I 
went  to  the  rulers  of  the  village  and  asked 
them  to  make  ready  for  your  coming.  And, 
Master,  when  I  mentioned  your  name,  they 
said  they  didn’t  want  you  to  come  near  their 
village;  that  they  would  make  no  provision  for 
your  comfort,  and  had  instructed  their  watch¬ 
men  not  to  allow  you  within  their  gates!  Such 
people.  Master,  should  be  punished.  Just  say 
the  word  and  we  will  bring  fire  from  heaven 
.  and  consume  them  as  Elias  did.” 


74) 


THE  MASTER 


John  was  furious,  so  much  so  that  he  would 
have  had  the  whole  village  destroyed. 

‘‘John,”  said  Jesus,  speaking  in  a  tone  he 
rarely  used,  “have  I  been  with  you  so  long, 
yet  you  understand  so  little  of  my  gospel.^  I 
didn’t  come  to  destroy  men’s  lives;  I  came  to 
save  them.  That  is  my  sole  purpose  in  this 
world.  I  am  here  not  to  bring  fire  from  heaven, 
but  to  bring  peace  and  blessing  into  the  hearts 
of  men.  The  spirit  you  now  show  is  one  of 
anger  and  sin.  You  should,  instead,  pity  these 
Samaritans,  as  everyone  is  to  be  pitied  who 
refuses  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God. 
John,  you  know  not  what  manner  of  spirit 
you  are  of.  Pray  that  it  may  be  taken  from 
you.  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  said  at  the 
beginning,  when  you  first  came  to  me,  ‘Love 
your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for 
them  that  despitefully  use  you  and  persecute 
you’.^  At  the  time  I  said  that  I  well  knew  it 
would  be  a  hard  task  to  set  before  men,  yet  no 
one  can  be  my  real  disciple  who  fails  to  do 
these  things.  Only  in  this  way  can  we  be 
children  of  God,  for  he  sendeth  the  rain  and 
the  sun  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust.” 

Slowly  the  fire  ceased  burning  in  the  eyes  of 
John;  the  angry  flush  died  gradually  from  his 
face,  his  mouth  relaxed  from  being  set  and 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM^US 


75 


grim,  and  as  he  looked  at  Jesus  and  saw  how 
he,  with  such  dignity  and  grace,  had  received 
the  insulting  message  of  the  Samaritans,  his 
impetuous  rage  melted  utterly  away. 

As  they  neared  Jericho  Jesus  observed  the 
disciples  in  what  seemed  an  angry  discussion. 
Hot  words  were  passing  from  one  to  another. 
They  were  strangely  excited.  And  it  had  all 
resulted  from  a  visit  of  the  wife  of  Zebedee, 
who  had  come  to  ask  that  her  sons,  James 
and  John,  might  have  supreme  honors  in 
the  kingdom  which  Jesus  had  come  to  estab¬ 
lish.  She  wanted  one  placed  on  the  right 
hand,  the  other  on  the  left.  Being  closely  re¬ 
lated  to  Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus,  she  thought 
it  was  her  right  to  claim  for  her  sons  the  priv¬ 
ileges  which  naturally  belonged  to  them. 

“You  don’t  know  what  you  are  asking,”  said 
Jesus,  looking  first  at  the  mother,  then  at 
James  and  John. 

“O  yes  we  do,”  the  brothers  answered  in  the 
same  breath. 

“Are  you  able  to  drink  of  the  cup  that  I 
shall  have  to  drink  of  in  the  coming  days?” 

“We  are  able,”  was  the  reply,  without  a  mo¬ 
ment’s  hesitation. 

“And  to  have  the  same  baptism  that  I  shall 
have?” 

Again  the  reply,  “We  are  able.” 


76 


THE  MASTER 


Jesus  sighed  deeply.  He  looked  at  them  with 
profound  pity.  To  think  that  they  had  heard 
him  speak  so  often  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  yet  all  the  while  their  de¬ 
sire  was  for  an  earthly  kingdom,  with  show, 
glitter,  service,  authority,  where  some  would 
exercise  lordship  and  dominion.  And  while  he 
had  been  preaching  humility,  these  two  men, 
closer  to  him  than  almost  any  other,  had  been 
filled  with  ambitious  dreams,  actually  desiring 
to  be  placed  over  their  fellow  disciples.  Jesus 
was  bitterly  disappointed.  Then  calling  all  of 
the  twelve  he  said,  “Do  you  know  what  lord- 
ship  in  the  kingdom  of  God  really  means?” 

No  one  answered.  They  knew  by  the  ques¬ 
tion  that  Jesus  was  aware  of  their  discussion 
about  who  should  be  greatest.  “Lordship  in 
the  kingdom  of  God,”  he  went  on,  “means 
larger  opportunity  of  service.  In  the  world  a 
man  is  esteemed  by  the  number  of  servants  he 
maintains,  in  the  kingdom  of  God  by  the 
amount  of  service  he  renders.  The  greater  the 
dignity  the  greater  is  the  service  required. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  empty  honor  or  mere 
title  in  real  discipleship.  Whosoever  will  be 
chief  among  you  let  him  be  your  servant. 
Even  the  Son  of  man  came  not  to  be  minis¬ 
tered  unto  but  to  minister  and  to  give  his  life 
a  ransom  for  many.  The  joy  of  life  is  in  giving, 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIMiEUS 


77 


in  doing,  in  serving,  and  the  more  we  serve 
and  the  more  we  give,  the  greater  is  our  re¬ 
ward.” 

Nothing  more  was  said,  the  disciples  accept¬ 
ing  the  rebuke  with  a  deep,  impressive  silence. 

Next  day,  on  leaving  Jericho,  a  great  crowd 
followed  Jesus,  even  beyond  the  city  gates, 
some  hoping  to  hear  what  he  might  say,  but  a 
larger  number  hoping  to  see  what  he  might 
do. 

“Do  you  believe  Jesus  could  open  the  eyes 
of  the  blind  one  man  in  the  crowd  asked  of 
another,  as  they  drew  nigh  the  city  gate. 

“No;  such  a  thing  hasn’t  been  done  since  the 
world  began.” 

“But  they  say  he  has  done  it.  Over  there  in 
Bethsaida,  just  by  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  a  man 
was  brought  to  him,  and  he  took  him  outside 
the  town,  put  his  hands  on  him  twice,  told 
him  to  look  up,  and  he  was  able  to  see  clearly.” 

“That  man  wasn’t  really  blind.  If  he  had 
been,  a  thousand  hands  laid  on  him  wouldn’t 
have  done  any  good.” 

“But  they  tell  us  of  two  other  men,  who 
followed  him  into  a  house,  and  he  touched 
their  eyes  and  they  were  cured.” 

“Now,  if  they  were  blind,  totally  blind,  how 
could  they  know  where  he  was  and  follow  him 
about.^  I  tell  you  again,  I  don’t  believe  he  or 


78 


THE  MASTER 


anyone  else  could  give  sight  to  a  really  blind 
man.” 

“How  about  Bartimseus?” 

“Well,  that  is  another  matter.  We  all  know 
he  is  blind.  I  don’t  know  for  certain,  but  I 
have  heard  that  Timaeus,  his  father,  was 
blind.” 

“I  wonder  if  Jesus  saw  Bartimseus  he  could 
help  him  in  any  way.  It  must  be  an  awful 
thing  to  be  blind.  Yet,  though  my  business 
often  takes  me  to  Jerusalem,  and  I  never  pass 
without  speaking  with  Bartimaeus,  I  haven’t 
heard  one  word  of  complaint  from  him.  I 
certainly  pity  him,  and  wish  something  could 
be  done  for  him.  I  can’t  imagine  anything 
more  dreadful  than  sitting  by  the  wayside 
begging.” 

The  speaker  was  a  good  friend  of  Bartimaeus 
and,  though  far  from  being  rich,  invariably 
gave  him  something  when  passing  by. 

“You  don’t  imagine,”  the  other  man  replied, 
scornfully,  “that  Jesus  would  trouble  himself 
with  a  poor,  blind  beggar.  Not  certainly,  if 
he  is  like  the  priests  we  have  in  Jericho.  Do 
you  know  that  only  last  week  a  man  was 
beaten  and  robbed  on  his  way  from  Jerusalem, 
and  he  might  have  died  only  for  the  help  a 
Samaritan  gave  him?  Now,  that  man  lay  on 
the  roadside  in  full  sight  of  both  a  priest  and  a 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM^US 


79 


Levite,  yet  they  passed  on;  one  of  them  went 
over  and  looked  at  him,  but  the  other  didn’t 
even  do  that.  If  Jesus  isn’t  different  from 
these  priests,  Bartimaeus  won’t  get  much  from 
him.” 

By  this  time  the  crowd  had  jostled  through 
the  city  gate  and  was  pouring  out  unto  the 
highway,  not  far  from  the  palm  tree  where 
Bartimaeus  sat.  With  ears  wonderfully  keen 
and  sensitive  because  of  his  blindness,  Barti¬ 
maeus  realized  that  a  great  throng  was  coming 
his  way,  for  he  could  hear  the  shuffle  of  many 
feet,  together  with  the  hum  and  noise  insep¬ 
arable  from  a  crowd.  Turning  his  sightless 
eyes  to  some  one  he  felt  was  near,  Bartimaeus 
asked  the  reason  for  all  the  excitement. 

“Jesus  of  Nazareth  is  on  his  way  to  Jeru¬ 
salem,”  a  man  answered,  the  one  in  whose 
direction  Bartimaeus  had  turned  his  face.  “He 
will  be  passing  here  in  a  few  minutes.  I  have 
never  seen  him,  but  people  say  that  he  can 
work  all  kinds  of  miracles,  though  I  don’t  be¬ 
lieve  everything  I  hear.  I  certainly  would  like 
to  see  him  work  a  miracle,”  and  unconsciously 
the  speaker  looked  at  Bartimaeus. 

“Jesus,  did  you  say.^  Jesus  of  Nazareth?” 
Bartimaeus  asked,  his  voice  trembling  with  ex¬ 
citement.  “Tell  me,  won’t  you,  when  he  is 
near  enough  for  me  to  call  to  him.  I  have 


80 


THE  MASTER 


heard  that  he  has  opened  the  eyes  of  the  blind. 
Perhaps  if  he  hears  my  call,  he  may  open 
my  eyes.  O,  if  he  only  would!  What  this 
would  mean  for  me.  To  be  no  longer  a  blind 
beggar,  helpless,  hopeless,  depending  on  the 
charity  of  the  passers-by.  In  the  name  of 
God,  don’t  let  him  pass  without  telling  me!” 
Tears  rolled  down  the  face  of  Bartimseus  as  he 
spoke. 

“He  is  now  at  the  bend  of  the  road,”  the 
stranger  said  in  kindly  tones,  for  the  appeal  of 
Bartimseus  had  moved  him  deeply.  “He  will 
be  here  shortly,  but  there  is  a  big,  noisy  crowd 
with  him.  I  am  afraid  he  won’t  hear  you.” 

“I  don’t  care  about  the  crowd.  I  will  make 
him  hear  me.  Only  give  me  word  when  he  is 
near.” 

After  a  brief  pause  the  stranger  said:  “You 
may  call  now.  He  is  close  at  hand.” 

Then  in  a  loud,  piercing  voice,  which  could 
be  plainly  heard  above  the  tumult  and  noise, 
Bartimaeus  cried,  “Jesus,  thou  son  of  David, 
have  mercy  on  me!” 

Such  a  cry,  so  intense,  so  appealing,  might 
well  have  touched  and  found  response  in  every 
heart  in  that  great  throng.  But  crowds  are 
often  merciless.  They  are  swayed  by  their 
own  passions.  It  was  so  here.  To  them  the 
cry  of  Bartimaeus  seemed  an  intrusion.  What 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIM^US 


81 


right  had  he  to  break  in  upon  the  procession 
with  such  a  wild,  frenzied  scream?  Surely,  he 
could  not  expect  that  Jesus  would  pay  any 
heed  to  the  ravings  of  a  blind  beggar.  So  in 
harsh,  angry  voices,  they  shouted  at  him  to 
keep  quiet,  to  cease  his  noise,  to  hold  his  peace. 
But  Bartimseus  would  not  hold  his  peace.  He 
was  desperate.  He  cared  nothing  about  their 
railing  and  shouting.  All  he  wanted  was  that 
Jesus  should  hear  him,  so  again  and  again  he 
raised  the  agonizing  cry,  “Jesus,  thou  Son  of 
David,  have  mercy  on  me.” 

In  vain  the  crowd  scowled  and  raged,  yelling 
at  him  to  hold  his  peace.  He  only  cried  the 
more  earnestly  until  he  fairly  shrieked,  “Jesus, 
Jesus,  thou  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on 
me!” 

There  was  something  so  piteous,  so  full  of 
entreaty  in  the  cry  that  when  Jesus  heard  it 
he  at  once  stood  still,  apparently  wondering 
what  it  could  mean.  Hearing  it  again,  even 
more  intense  than  before,  and  knowing  now 
whence  it  came,  he  commanded  that  Barti- 
maeus  be  brought  to  him. 

Then,  as  if  to  show  how  fickle  is  the  mind  of 
a  crowd  and  how  easily  it  can  veer  from  one 
extreme  to  another,  the  same  men  who  a 
moment  before  had  been  railing  at  Bartimaeus, 
now  vied  with  each  other  as  to  who  would  reach 


82 


THE  MASTER 


him  first  to  tell  him  that  Jesus  had  called  him 
and  was  waiting  for  him. 

A  strange,  glad  light  broke  upon  the  face  of 
the  blind  man.  A  wonderful  hope  began  to 
fill  his  heart.  Else  why  had  Jesus  sent  for 
him?  ‘‘Be  of  good  comfort,”  the  men  had 
said;  “he  calleth  thee.”  So,  casting  aside  the 
loose  cloak  he  usually  wore,  lest  it  might  hin¬ 
der  him  in  passing  through  the  crowd,  Barti- 
mseus  was  led  to  where  Jesus  stood.  Then  a 
deep  silence  fell  upon  the  throng.  Men  glanced 
for  an  instant  at  each  other,  a  glance  both  of 
wonder  and  dread,  then  at  Jesus  and  Barti- 
mseus.  And  what  a  contrast  they  presented! 
Bartimseus,  bare  almost  to  the  waist,  matted 
hair,  unsandaled  feet,  unkempt,  his  appearance 
in  every  way  that  of  a  poor,  blind  beggar 
inured  to  deprivation  and  neglect.  Jesus, 
young,  strong,  pure  of  body  and  of  soul,  eyes 
filled  with  divine  light,  face  illumined  as  from 
a  hidden  sky,  his  bearing  that  of  serenity  and 
grace. 

“What  wilt  thou  that  I  should  do  unto 
thee?”  he  asked  Bartimseus,  who  stood  trem¬ 
bling  with  hope  and  excitement. 

“Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my  sight.” 
Everything  of  faith,  of  desire,  of  yearning,  of 
prayer;  all  the  intensity  and  longing  of  which 
a  human  soul  is  capable  could  be  felt  in  the 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIMiEUS 


83 


reply  of  Bartimaeus.  And  this  Jesus  knew. 
He  saw  the  quivering  lip,  the  trembling  hand, 
the  entreating  face,  the  sightless  but  tearful 
eyes. 

Then,  speaking  so  that  all  in  the  crowd 
might  hear,  he  said,  ‘‘Go  thy  way:  thy  faith 
hath  made  thee  whole.” 

For  a  moment  Bartimaeus  stood  as  one 
stricken.  A  feeling  of  amazement  came  upon 
him.  He  looked  around  as  in  a  dream.  He 
was  no  longer  blind!  He  saw  light  streaming 
from  the  sky.  He  saw  the  trees  by  the  road¬ 
side.  Fearfully  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  the 
crowd,  seeing  a  look  of  wonder  on  each  face. 
It  was  not  then  a  dream  from  which  he  would 
wake  into  despair.  It  was  real!  His  eyes  had 
been  opened!  His  prayer  had  been  answered! 
Then,  in  a  voice  which  those  who  heard  could 
never  forget,  he  cried,  “O  God,  O  God!”  and 
in  another  instant  flung  himself  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  covering  them  with  kisses  and  tears. 

“Master,”  said  John  that  same  evening  as 
they  sat  watching  the  light  fade  from  the 
sky,  “when  you  gave  sight  to  a  blind  man,  or 
opened  the  ears  of  one  who  was  deaf,  like  that 
man  in  Decapolis,  you  sighed  as  though  in 
sorrow.  Yet  I  know  that  to  give  eyesight  to 
the  blind  or  healing  to  the  sick  is  a  joy  to  you.” 

With  a  grave,  troubled  look  on  his  face,  and 


84 


THE  MASTER 


with  a  tone  of  peculiar  sadness  in  his  voice, 
Jesus  replied:  ‘Tt  is  because  men  are  con¬ 
cerned  only  with  their  body,  not  their  soul. 
To  have  the  body  healed  men  will  go  anywhere, 
travel  any  distance,  pay  any  price.  But  how 
few  ever  so  much  as  think  about  the  healing  of 
the  soul!  Yet  it  is  only  through  the  soul  the 
body  has  any  value.  Without  the  soul  the 
body  is  dead.” 

Just  then  Peter  and  James  came  in  from 
Bethphage,  where  they  had  been  sent  to  ar¬ 
range  for  keeping  the  Passover,  which  was 
close  at  hand.  Jesus  was  wont  to  speak  more 
freely  with  these  three  disciples  than  when  all 
of  the  twelve  were  present. 

‘T  have  been  with  you  for  nearly  three 
years,”  he  said.  “During  that  time  hundreds 
and  hundreds  have  come  to  me  for  help,  but 
always  for  their  bodies,  never  for  their  souls; 
all  of  them  thinking  about  the  life  that  now  is, 
none  of  them  thinking  about  the  life  to  come.” 

“How  about  Nicodemus.^”  John  asked,  not, 
however,  by  way  of  denial,  but  to  learn  the 
result  of  his  interview  with  Jesus. 

“He  merely  came  to  find  if  I  were  the  Mes¬ 
siah.  He  never  openly  became  a  disciple.” 

“There  was  that  young  man  who  came  ask¬ 
ing  about  eternal  life,”  Peter  said,  the  same 
purpose  in  his  mind  as  in  that  of  John. 


CHRIST  AND  BARTIMJEUS 


85 


“His  possessions  were  more  to  him  than 
eternal  life.  He  went  away  sorrowful,  and 
never  returned.  You  remember  my  telling  of 
the  man  who  prepared  a  great  supper  and 
sent  out  his  servants  to  bid  those  who  were 
called.  That  was  actual  life.  And  that  is  the 
life  we  see  all  about  us.  Any  excuse,  no  matter 
how  trivial,  is  deemed  sufficient.  And  you  also 
remember  my  speaking  of  a  farmer  who  was 
troubled  about  room  for  his  crops  and  was 
going  to  build  larger  barns,  but  who  died  that 
same  night.” 

The  light  had  almost  gone  from  the  sky,  but 
enough  remained  for  these  chosen  ones  to  see 
a  look  of  profound  sadness  on  the  face  of  Jesus. 
Usually  he  was  calm,  peaceful,  with  an  expres¬ 
sion  suggesting  mysterious  strength,  supreme 
courage.  But  now  he  seemed  a  man  of  sor¬ 
rows  and  acquainted  with  grief.  Yet  no  tear 
glistened  in  his  eyes,  for  his  was  a  burden  too 
deep  for  tears.  But  there  was  nothing  of  weak¬ 
ness.  The  face  might  be  sad,  but  it  was  strong, 
divinely,  gloriously  strong.  Laying  his  hand 
affectionately  on  the  shoulder  of  John,  who 
sat  nearer  to  him  than  the  others,  he  said, 
“Bartimseus  has  his  eyes  opened  to-day,  the 
eyes  of  his  body,  and  you  remember  the  joy 
that  came  upon  him  when  he  saw  the  light. 
But  a  far  deeper  joy  comes  to  the  man  when 


86 


THE  MASTER 


the  eyes  of  his  soul  are  opened;  for  then  he 
sees  God  as  his  graeious,  loving  Father;  he 
sees  the  world,  and  all  things  in  it,  under  the 
care  of  his  Father’s  hand;  he  sees  that  even 
life  itself  is  enriched  and  made  beautiful  by  the 
grace  and  blessing  of  God.  But  O  how  many 
turn  away  from  the  touch  of  a  Divine  Hand 
and  will  not  allow  the  eyes  of  their  soul  to  be 
opened!  So  they  walk  in  darkness,  and  great 
is  that  darkness!  Yet  it  is  to  open  their  blind 
eyes  that  I  have  come;  but  men  love  darkness 
rather  than  light.  So  they  will  not  seek  the 
kingdom  of  God.  They  would  rather  grope 
their  way  blindly  through  life,  never  once  hav¬ 
ing  the  eyes  of  the  soul  opened,  living  only  for 
the  things  of  this  world,  yet  what  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul.?^  Hereafter  I  will  not  talk 
much  with  you.  Arise,  let  us  go  hence.” 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


He  was  not  an  old  man,  though  he  would 
give  that  impression,  for  his  face  was 
heavily  lined,  his  eyes  had  lost  much  of 
their  brilliance,  and  he  seemed  to  sag  in  his 
chair  like  one  well  on  in  years.  At  times  he 
would  sigh,  not  that  deep  sigh  of  weariness 
often  the  result  of  bodily  fatigue,  but  as  if  some 
inward  sorrow  were  trying  to  express  itself. 
When  he  spoke  one  could  easily  detect  in  his 
voice  that  peculiar  quality  which  would  sug¬ 
gest  hidden  tears.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  one  would  not  gather  from  his  appear¬ 
ance  or  bearing  that  he  was  a  man  upon  whom 
the  years  had  thrown  themselves,  as  waves 
over  a  storm-driven  ship,  stripping  it  of  almost 
everything  by  which  it  might  be  able  to  com¬ 
plete  the  voyage.  No,  at  heart  he  was  a  strong 
man,  he  was  possessed  of  a  proud  spirit,  and 
in  his  day  he  had  faced  and  conquered  many 
things  from  which  other  men  had  drawn  back. 
But  when  his  daughter,  bright-eyed,  sweet¬ 
faced,  graceful  as  a  fawn,  one  of  the  fairest 
and  most  attractive  maidens  in  Magdala,  was 
enticed  by  honeyed  words  and  alluring  prom¬ 
ises  to  forsake  her  father’s  home,  Caleb  Jair, 

87 


88 


THE  MASTER 


one  of  whose  ancestors  had  been  a  judge  in 
Israel,  suffered  a  blow  from  which  recovery  was 
impossible.  His  wife,  a  woman  of  rare  sweet¬ 
ness  and  beauty  as  well,  had  no  desire  to  live 
once  her  daughter  had  gone,  for  she  was  an 
only  child,  and  upon  her  the  mother  had  lav¬ 
ished  all  that  was  in  her  heart. 

As  Caleb  sat  by  the  window  in  the  gathering 
shadows  of  the  night,  looking  wistfully  at  the 
sky,  to  which  the  stars  were  beginning  to  come, 
his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  bedside  of  his 
dying  wife. 

“Don’t  blame  me  for  going,  Caleb,”  she  said 
in  a  tender,  broken  voice.  “I  would  like  to 
stay  with  you,  but” — she  stopped  abruptly 
and  looked  at  Caleb  as  though  he  would  under¬ 
stand. 

Then,  taking  his  hand  in  hers,  holding  it 
with  what  seemed  renewed  strength,  and  speak¬ 
ing  so  that  every  word  was  tense  and  clear, 
she  said:  “Promise  me,  Caleb,  that  when  Mir¬ 
iam  comes  back,  you  will  make  her  welcome, 
and  in  my  name  as  well  as  yours.  Be  both 
father  and  mother  to  her.  Remember  what 
she  has  been  to  me,  what  she  has  been  to  you.” 
Again  she  stopped,  her  eyes  meanwhile  looking 
into  those  of  Caleb,  as  though  she  would  read 
his  secret  heart. 

“And,  remember,”  she  went  on,  after  a 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


89 


short  pause,  “Miriam  never  meant  any  wrong. 
She  was  deceived,  wickedly,  cruelly  deceived. 
But  we  all  were.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  Demas” — this  time  the  pause  was  broken 
by  a  faint  sob,  then  she  added,  as  only  a  dying 
mother  could,  “O  Miriam,  my  daughter,  how 
willingly  I  would  have  died  to  save  thee!”  No 
wonder  Caleb’s  face  was  sad  as  he  recalled  that 
scene  of  three  years  before,  and  it  was  all  the 
more  sad,  because  Miriam  had  not  returned  to 
find  peace  and  shelter  in  her  father’s  home. 

By  this  time  it  was  late  in  the  evening;  the 
stars  were  hanging  low,  and  shining  as  they 
only  can  in  a  Syrian  sky;  a  gentle  wind  gath¬ 
ered  the  rich  perfume  from  the  garden,  where 
Caleb  tenderly  cherished  the  flowers,  once  so 
dear  to  his  wife,  and  in  which  Miriam  had 
spent  many  of  her  girlhood  hours.  Hearing 
footsteps,  he  glanced  quickly  down  the  path 
leading  from  his  house  to  the  street,  and 
though  it  was  dark  he  instantly  recognized 
two  men — dear  and  intimate  friends — Joseph 
of  Arimathsea  and  Nicodemus  of  Jerusalem. 

“It  is  late,”  said  Nicodemus,  “but  I  could 
not  go  back  to  Jerusalem  without  stopping  to 
see  you,  but  especially  to  ask  if  you  have 
heard  of  a  young  Man  from  Nazareth,  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  the  son  of  a  carpenter,  who  is  say¬ 
ing  and  doing  the  strangest  things?” 


90 


THE  MASTER 


prophet  of  Israel  ever  spake  like  this 
Man/’  Joseph  said,  before  Caleb  could  reply. 
‘T  happened  to  be  in  Nazareth  one  Sabbath 
day  when  he  spoke  in  the  synagogue.  He  de¬ 
clared  that  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  was  upon 
him,  anointing  him  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the 
poor,  to  heal  the  broken-hearted,  and  set  at 
liberty  them  that  are  bruised.  I  did  wish  you 
could  have  been  with  me  that  day,  Caleb,  and 
I  have  thought,  many  times  since,  of  what  he 
said  and  the  comfort  his  words  would  have 
given  you.” 

‘Tt  would  take  more  than  the  words  of  this 
Nazarene  you  speak  of  to  heal  my  broken 
heart,  or  help  my  bruised  and  broken  soul,” 
Caleb  sadly  answered. 

‘T  heard  him  not  long  ago,”  Nicodemus  said, 
as  if  in  reply  to  Caleb.  ‘Tt  was  in  the  open 
air  and  he  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  such  as 
I  have  rarely  seen.  And  the  people  were  aston¬ 
ished  at  his  doctrine;  for  he  taught  them  as  one 
having  authority,  and  not  as  the  scribes.  I 
don’t  think  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  for¬ 
get  the  closing  words  of  that  sermon.  They 
have  been  with  me  ever  since:  ‘Come  unto  me, 
all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you 
and  learn  of  me,  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  in 
heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls. 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


91 


For  my  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden  is 
light.’  ” 

The  moon  now  coming  up  cast  some  of  its  light 
on  the  veranda  where  the  three  men  were  sitting, 
and  when  Caleb  looked  at  Nicodemus  he  could 
not  fail  to  note  his  tender  yet  solemn  expression. 

Perhaps  Caleb  would  have  understood  that  ex¬ 
pression  had  he  known  that  Nicodemus  had  seen 
Miriam  in  that  great  crowd;  that  unseen  by  him 
she  had  listened  with  intense  eagerness  to  what 
the  Nazarene  was  saying,  and  that  when  the 
Speaker  ended  his  discourse  she  hurried  away, 
trying  at  the  same  time  to  hide  the  tears, 
which  almost  blinded  her. 

It  was  close  upon  midnight  when  the  three 
friends  parted,  but  Caleb  had  no  desire  for 
sleep.  The  strange  words  of  Joseph  and  Nico¬ 
demus  seemed  to  have  entered  his  soul. 

‘‘Heal  the  broken-hearted,”  he  kept  repeat¬ 
ing.  “Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.” 
Taking  the  lamp  one  of  the  servants  had 
ready  for  him,  he  went  to  his  room,  but  not 
until  he  had  gone  to  the  chamber  once  occu¬ 
pied  by  Miriam,  and  kneeling  at  the  side  of 
the  empty  couch  he  cried,  in  the  language  of 
her  dying  mother,  “O  Miriam,  my  daughter, 
how  willingly  would  I  have  died  to  save  thee!” 

The  distance  between  Magdala,  where  Caleb 


92 


THE  MASTER 


lived,  and  Jerusalem,  where  Simon  lived,  could 
be  measured  by  miles,  but  the  distance  be¬ 
tween  Caleb  and  Simon  was  immeasurable. 
They  were  separated  by  habits  of  life,  of 
thought,  of  purpose,  of  character,  and  to  these 
no  form  of  measurement  is  possible.  Simon 
was  not  an  openly  wicked  man;  he  was  a  bad 
man  at  heart,  and  therefore  more  to  be  feared 
than  a  flagrant,  defiant  sinner.  We  find  him 
holding  a  secret  council  with  a  group  of  Phari¬ 
sees,  members  of  his  own  order. 

‘‘Yes,”  he  said,  speaking  cautiously,  lest 
some  of  the  servants  might  hear,  “the  Nazarene 
is  coming.  He  will  be  here  to-morrow.  I  am 
going  to  have  some  kind  of  a  feast  in  the  court¬ 
yard,  which  will  enable  us  to  carry  out  our 
plan  and  not  excite  suspicion.”  There  was  a 
cruel  glitter  in  his  eyes,  and  a  crafty  look  on 
his  face  as  he  spoke. 

“I  saw  the  Master,  as  his  disciples  call  him, 
at  the  lake  of  Gennesaret  some  time  ago,  and 
the  people  there  were  all  excited  about  a  won¬ 
derful  haul  of  fish,  such  as  they  had  never 
seen  before.  They  said  he  told  them  just 
where  to  let  down  the  nets.  If  we  don’t  do 
something  soon,  he  will  destroy  the  whole 
country.”  It  was  Nathan,  a  money-changer 
at  the  Temple,  who  spoke  scornfully  and  with 
suppressed  passion. 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


93 


“Only  think  of  that  centurion  in  Capernaum 
saying  that  he  healed  his  servant  instantly, 
who  was  lying  at  the  point  of  death.  Next 
thing  Pilate  will  be  sending  for  him  to  come 
to  the  palace  and  work  a  miracle  there,”  and 
Gershon,  a  Levite,  laughed  satirically  when 
speaking. 

A  priest  of  the  Caiaphas  type,  one  who  was 
trained  in  his  school,  almost  daily  under  his 
influence,  so  far  had  been  a  silent  but  eager 
listener.  That  he  was  in  full  sympathy  with 
the  purpose  of  the  council  was  very  evident. 
He  showed  it  in  his  face,  in  his  smile  of  ap¬ 
proval,  in  the  emphatic,  assenting  motion  of  his 
head.  But  he  felt  that  even  more  should  be  said. 

“I  heard  Caiaphas  say,”  he  broke  in,  speak¬ 
ing  so  loudly  that  Simon  held  up  a  warning 
hand,  “that  unless  something  is  done  to  get 
rid  of  the  Nazarene,  the  Romans  will  come 
and  take  away  both  our  place  and  nation. 
Already  Caesar  has  sent  warning  to  the  gov¬ 
ernor.  Look  at  the  crowds  who  gather  to  hear 
him.  Think  of  what  the  people  are  saying 
about  him.  They  actually  believe  he  is  the 
Messiah.  And  just  see  how  he  neglects  the 
traditions  of  our  fathers.  He  cares  nothing  for 
either  scribe  or  rabbi.  Then  he  goes  every¬ 
where,  making  friends  with  publicans  and  sin¬ 
ners,  eating  with  them,  drinking  with  them. 


94 


THE  MASTER 


and  all  tlie  while  teaching  and  preaching  the 
strangest  things.  One  day,  standing  in  the 
crowd,  close  enough  to  catch  every  word,  I 
heard  him  put  himself  above  all  law  and  tradi¬ 
tion  and  commandment.  Every  little  while  he 
kept  repeating,  ‘But  I  say  unto  you,’  as  if 
Moses  and  all  the  prophets  must  give  way  to 
him.  I  hope  Simon  has  found  a  way  by  which 
we  can  expose  this  deceiver.  As  Pharisees  our 
duty  in  this  matter  is  plain.  Our  only  hope  is 
in  some  way  to  destroy  him.” 

To  this  outburst  all  gave  eager  consent,  so 
loudly  that  again  Simon  had  to  raise  a  warn¬ 
ing  hand. 

“Have  you  arranged  with  Miriam.^”  Nathan, 
the  money-changer,  was  asked. 

“Yes,  I  saw  her  early  to-day.  I  had  some 
diflficulty  in  persuading  her  to  come.  But 
finally  she  consented.  She  would  not  take  any 
money.  Some  one  told  me  she  had  been  seen 
in  the  crowd  listening  to  the  Nazarene.” 

“You  didn’t  tell  her  that  he  would  be  here 
to-morrow?”  Simon  asked,  anxiously. 

“Never  mentioned  his  name.  Made  her 
think  she  was  an  invited  guest.  Suggested 
that  there  was  a  stranger  you  desired  to  honor, 
and  for  her  to  bring  a  box  of  her  favorite  per¬ 
fume,  and  the  most  precious  she  had,  as  it 
might  be  used  some  time  during  the  feast.” 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


95 


“Well  done,  Nathan!  I  knew  we  could  de¬ 
pend  on  you,’^  Simon  said  with  a  malicious 
chuckle,  and  then  he  added:  “I  thinlc  after  to¬ 
morrow  the  Nazarene,  or  the  Master,  as  his 
disciples  call  him,  won’t  give  us  much  more 
trouble.” 

With  this  the  council  broke  up,  all  agreeing 
to  meet  next  day  at  the  house  of  Simon. 

Simon,  like  most  of  the  rich  men  of  that 
day,  was  extravagant,  ostentatious,  and  fond 
of  display,  and  when  he  entertained  a  company 
he  took  care  that  everything  was  done  in  such 
form  as  to  secure  unstinted  praise.  The  Master, 
therefore,  had  every  reason  to  expect  that  when 
he  arrived  Simon  would  greet  him  as  he  did  the 
other  guests — ^give  him  the  salutation  of  wel¬ 
come,  command  a  servant  to  bring  a  basin  of 
water  to  refresh  his  feet,  then  have  a  grateful 
perfume  for  his  head.  To  all  of  the  others 
these  attentions  were  given,  and  the  Master 
could  not  fail  to  notice  how  suave,  and  gracious, 
and  courteous  Simon  seemed,  as  he  moved 
through  the  company.  He  motioned  Nathan, 
the  money-changer,  to  a  place  reserved  for 
some  chosen  ones,  also  the  priest  who  had  been 
at  the  council  the  night  before,  nor  did  he  for¬ 
get  the  Levite. 

Anyone  but  the  Master  would  have  felt  em¬ 
barrassed,  perhaps  aggrieved,  at  the  studied 


96 


THE  MASTER 


neglect  of  Simon,  for  such  open  discourtesy 
could  not  fail  to  attract  general  notice. 

“Who  is  that  young  man.^”  one  would  ask 
another,  then  they  would  look  at  the  Master, 
who  stood  quietly  waiting  to  be  shown  his 
place  at  the  table. 

“Evidently,  he  is  not  of  much  consequence 
else  Simon  would  not  have  treated  him  so 
lightly.  Simon,  you  know,  is  careful  not  to 
offend  anyone  who - ” 

“That  is  true,  but  that  is  true  of  lots  of 
other  men.  I  feel  sorry,  though,  for  that 
young  man.  His  face  seems  familiar.  But  I 
can’t  remember  just  now  where  I  have  seen 
him.”  As  they  were  speaking  a  servant  mo¬ 
tioned  to  the  Master,  who  followed  him  to  a 
place  not  far  from  the  table  where  Simon  sat. 

When  all  of  the  guests  had  arrived,  a  large 
company  they  were,  for  Simon  had  contrived 
to  suggest  that  some  strange  thing  might 
occur;  and  when  the  feast  was  at  its  height,  a 
woman,  richly  clad  |and  strangely  beautiful, 
appeared  at  the  courtyard  entrance.  Stand¬ 
ing  there  for  a  few  moments,  she  looked  first 
at  one  group,  then  at  another,  apparently  seek¬ 
ing  for  the  Stranger  of  whom  Nathan  had 
spoken.  Instantly  the  eyes  of  the  whole  com¬ 
pany  turned  to  where  she  stood;  and  well  they 
might,  for  she  was  dowered  with  a  beauty  al- 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


91 

most  unearthly.  Yet  there  was  nothing  gay 
or  vivacious  in  either  her  face  or  bearing;  and 
though  her  lips  seemed  to  curve  into  a  haughty 
or  scornful  smile,  she  gave  the  impression  of 
trying  to  hide  a  sore,  sorrowing  heart. 

Simon  glanced  quickly  at  Nathan,  then  at 
the  priest,  to  which  they  replied  with  a  covert 
smile. 

With  a  grace  which  must  have  been  an  in¬ 
heritance,  for  it  never  could  have  been  ac¬ 
quired,  she  moved  slowly  along  the  courtyard, 
indifferent  seemingly  to  the  wondering  faces 
which  met  her  on  every  side.  Seeing  Nathan, 
her  eyes  flashed  with  anger,  for  she  now  rea¬ 
lized  that  he  had  willfully  deceived  her  in  what 
he  had  said  the  day  before. 

When  she  came  to  the  table  at  which  the 
Master  had  been  placed,  she  looked  at  him 
with  wonder,  and  was  so  startled  and  amazed 
that  she  drew  back,  then  stood  as  though  all 
life  had  gone.  Quicker  than  light,  her  thoughts 
flashed  back  to  that  never-to-be-forgotten  day 
when  she  heard  him  say,  in  his  rich,  tender, 
appealing  voice,  “Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest.”  And  now  he  was  here;  his  eyes,  full  of 
help  and  pity,  bent  on  her;  his  face,  gracious 
and  winning,  calling  her  to  his  side.  True,  he 
had  not  spoken,  but  she  felt  that  he  was  speak- 


98 


THE  MASTER 


ing  to  her  and  saying,  just  as  he  had  said  before, 
“Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.” 
Then,  forgetful  of  everything  save  that  he  was 
here,  she  fell  at  his  feet,  the  hot  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks.  Sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  she  tenderly,  with  her  unbound 
hair,  wiped  the  feet  upon  which  her  tears  had 
fallen,  kissing  them  again  and  again  in  loving 
adoration.  Nor  was  she  content  until  she  had 
poured  on  the  Master’s  head  the  most  costly 
of  all  her  perfumes,  one  she  had  treasured  as  a 
priceless  possession. 

At  that  moment  Simon  was  much  pleased 
with  himself.  And  apparently  with  good  cause. 
He  had  succeeded  even  beyond  his  expecta¬ 
tions.  There  was  no  question  now  in  his 
mind.  Nor  could  there  be  a  question  in  the 
mind  of  anyone  in  that  company.  The  Gali- 
laean  was  not  a  prophet.  He  was  a  pretender, 
a  deceiver,  simply  an  impostor;  otherwise  he 
would  not  have  allowed  this  woman  to  so  much 
as  touch  him,  much  less  bathe  his  feet  with  her 
tears  and  pour  her  alluring  perfume  on  his 
head.  No  wonder  Simon  smiled  as  he  looked 
across  the  table  at  Nathan.  And  well  might 
his  eyes  have  a  gleam  of  triumph  when  he 
glanced  at  the  priest.  Nor  did  he  try  to  con¬ 
ceal  the  pleased  expression  on  his  face  with 
which  he  regarded  the  whole  company.  Mean- 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


99 


time  not  a  word  was  spoken.  The  only  sound 
that  broke  the  silence  was  the  woman  sobbing 
at  the  feet  of  the  Master.  The  uninvited 
guests,  those  who  had  come  in  during  the 
course  of  the  feast,  came  forward  from  behind 
the  pillars  of  the  portico,  and  pressed  their 
way  almost  to  the  table  where  the  Master  sat. 
The  other  guests,  nearly  all  of  whom  knew  this 
woman,  at  least  by  name,  for  her  beauty  had 
been  spoken  of  everywhere,  looked  first  at  the 
kneeling  woman,  then  at  the  Master,  then  at 
Simon,  wondering  why  he  did  not  have  his 
servants  remove  this  woman,  whose  presence 
was  an  affront  they  all  resented. 

Then  the  Master  broke  the  silence  by  saying, 
in  a  tone  easily  audible  to  the  entire  company, 
‘T  will  answer  your  question,  Simon.” 

“But  I  didn’t  speak,”  Simon  replied,  with 
an  amazed  look. 

“Not  so  that  all  these  might  hear,  but  I 
heard  every  word.” 

“Why,  Master,”  Simon  said,  excitedly,  “I 
never  opened  my  mouth  so  much  as  to  whis- 
per. 

“But  you  opened  your  heart,  Simon,  and 
when  the  heart  is  opened  the  truth  is  spoken. 
And  this  is  the  thought  in  your  heart:  Tf  this 
man,’  referring  to  me,  ‘were  a  prophet,  he 
would  know  that  this  woman  is  a  sinner;  he 


100 


THE  MASTER 


would  not  allow  her  to  touch  him,  he  would 
angrily  have  withdrawn  his  feet,  ordered  her 
from  his  presence,  and  spoken  too  with  such 
harshness  that  she  would  have  left  at  once, 
thus  giving  proof  that  he  was  a  real  prophet.’  ” 

As  the  Master  spoke  his  hand  rested  gently 
on  the  woman’s  shoulder,  so  gently  in  fact 
that  it  seemed  as  a  caress. 

Simon’s  face  expressed  the  wonder  he  felt. 
And  not  only  wonder,  but  bitter,  angry  dis¬ 
appointment.  The  scheme  he  had  been  work¬ 
ing  on  with  such  intent  and  of  which  he  was 
so  confident,  had  utterlv  failed.  It  had  more 
than  failed,  for  it  gave  the  Nazarene  such  an 
occasion  as  proved  the  very  thing  Simon  was 
so  eager  to  disprove,  and  for  which  he  had 
arranged  this  feast  and  invited  a  large  com¬ 
pany,  that  they  might  see  the  pretensions  of 
the  Nazarene  brought  to  an  end. 

The  priest  was  even  more  astonished  than 
Simon.  Then  he  turned  to  where  Nathan  sat, 
but  there  was  no  comfort  in  his  face,  for  he 
was  frowning  heavily,  staring  at  the  Master 
with  eyes  full  of  hatred. 

“Simon,”  said  the  Master,  in  the  clear, 
strong  voice  he  often  used,  “seest  thou  this 
woman  I  entered  into  thine  house,  thou  gav- 
est  me  no  water  for  my  feet.” 

Now  Simon  drops  his  head,  he  is  mortified. 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


101 


Full  well  he  knows  that  he  had  deliberately 
intended  to  slight  his  own  guest,  an  offense 
which  even  that  company  would  hardly  con¬ 
done. 

The  Master  went  on:  “But  she  hath  washed 
my  feet  with  tears  and  wiped  them  with  the 
hairs  of  her  head.  Thou  gavest  me  no  kiss.” 

Simon  now  remembered  with  shame  how  he 
had  turned  away  to  effusively  greet  other 
guests,  with  only  a  cold,  formal  word  for  the 
Nazar  ene. 

Again  the  Master  spoke:  “But  this  woman 
hath  not  ceased  to  kiss  my  feet.  My  head 
with  oil  thou  didst  not  anoint.” 

Simon  was  now  bitterly  distressed,  for  in 
this  neglect  he  had  given  proof  of  his  enmity 
and  lack  of  even  common  courtesy. 

“But  this  woman  hath  anointed  my  feet. 
Wherefore  I  say  unto  thee.  Her  sins  which  are 
many  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much;  but 
to  whom  little  is  forgiven  the  same  loveth 
little.” 

Then  in  a  voice  of  supreme  tenderness,  in 
v/hich  they  all  could  feel  the  pity  and  sym¬ 
pathy  of  the  Master,  at  the  same  time  raising 
her  gently  from  her  knees,  and  looking  lovingly 
into  her  tearful,  grief-stricken  face,  he  said: 
“Thy  sins  are  forgiven.  Thy  faith  hath  saved 
thee;  go  in  peace.” 


102 


THE  MASTER 


Slowly  the  woman  moved  toward  the  court¬ 
yard  gate,  not  with  the  same  imperious  bear¬ 
ing  as  when  she  entered,  but  with  a  quiet 
dignity  so  impressive  that  no  curious  eyes  fol¬ 
lowed,  and  even  the  servants  stood  respectfully 
aside  as  she  passed  through  the  gate. 

•  •••••••••• 

This  time  Nicodemus  came  alone  to  see 
Caleb.  He  found  him  on  the  veranda,  watch¬ 
ing  the  stars  come  from  their  hiding  places, 
and  range  themselves  along  the  sky.  And 
he  had  a  special  purpose  in  coming,  for  he 
had  heard  only  the  day.'  before  of  the  feast  in 
the  house  of  Simon,  and  of  Miriam  being  there. 
It  did  not  seem  quite  right  to  him  that  Caleb 
should  know  of  this  through  strangers.  They 
might  not  tell  exactly  what  happened,  but,  in¬ 
stead,  get  things  so  mixed  and  confused  as  to 
add  to  the  burden  of  Caleb’s  sorrow.  So  he 
told  him  of  having  seen  Miriam  in  the  crowd, 
listening  eagerly  to  the  Master;  that  she  was 
there  that  day  when,  with  an  entreaty  never 
to  be  forgotten,  he  cried,  “Come  unto  me  all 
ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest”;  that  as  she  left  the  throng  he 
saw  that  she  was  weeping;  and  that  since  then 
she  had  lived  quietly  at  home,  free  from  her 
old  associates  and  companions. 

How  Caleb  listened!  With  what  eagerness 


CHRIST  AND  SIMON 


103 


he  followed  every  word !  And  when  Nicodemus 
rose  to  go  he  went  with  him  to  the  gate  lead¬ 
ing  to  one  of  the  chief  streets  of  Magdala. 

Returning  to  the  veranda,  he  sat  down  and 
tried  to  recall  what  Nicodemus  had  said. 

“I  would  like  to  hear  the  Master.  I  wonder 
if  he  can  really  heal  the  broken-hearted  or  give 
rest  to  the  heavy-laden?”  he  whispered  just 
above  his  breath. 

He  did  not  hear  the  soft  tread  of  a  sandaled 
foot  coming  up  the  path,  but  he  did  hear  a 
voice  that  thrilled  his  very  soul,  and  in  a  mo¬ 
ment  Miriam  had  thrown  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  hidden  her  weeping  face  on  his  breast. 
There  was  no  sleep  for  him  that  night.  His 
joy  was  too  full. 

“Yes,”  he  kept  saying,  “He  can  heal  the 
broken-hearted,  he  can  comfort  them  that  are 
bruised.  Thank  God  that  he  ever  came  to 
say,  ‘Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest,’  rest 
unto  your  souls.” 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


Though  Lazarus  was  the  only  son  of  a 
rich  man  and  might  have  chosen  an  easy, 
luxurious  life,  his  mind  tended  just  the 
other  way,  much  to  the  surprise  of  many  of 
the  young  men  with  whom  he  was  acquainted. 
They  couldn’t  understand  why  he  should  plod 
every  day  from  Bethany  to  Jerusalem,  trudge 
along  that  dusty  road  under  the  hot  sun,  some¬ 
times  in  the  blinding  rain,  then  work  hard  in 
his  father’s  warehouse  for  several  hours,  often 
weary  and  exhausted  when  he  returned  home. 

“What  a  fool  Lazarus  is!”  one  would  say  to 
the  other.  “He  works  like  a  hired  servant. 
No  need  of  it.  His  father,  Levi,  is  the  richest 
man  in  Bethany.” 

“I  wish  he  had  been  with  us  last  night,”  the 
other  answered,  “and  taken  a  few  throws  with 
the  dice.  He  might  have  changed  my  luck.  I 
tell  you,  Benjamin,  I  dropped  some  shekels  in 
that  game  with  Judah  and  Reuben.” 

“It  was  too  much  wine,  Marcus;  you  not 
only  looked  upon  the  wine  when  it  was  red, 
but  you  swallowed  it  in  flagons.  Then  you 
lost  your  head  and  made  the  most  foolish  bets. 
When  one  plays  with  such  men  as  Reuben  and 

104 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


105 


Judah  better  not  have  any  wine  of  any  color, 
either  white  or  red.” 

“Then  you  think  that - ” 

“No,  I  don’t!  Not  for  a  minute.  But  if  it 
hadn’t  been  for  the  wine  you  would  not  have 
gambled  in  such  a  reckless  fashion.” 

Just  at  that  moment  Lazarus  crossed  the 
street  on  his  way  home.  There  was  a  sharp 
contrast  both  in  bearing  and  appearance  be¬ 
tween  him  and  the  two  roysterers  who  had 
spoken  to  each  other  so  frankly.  They  looked 
exactly  what  they  were — careless,  idle,  ex¬ 
travagant— and  represented  many  others  of 
the  same  class  and  type.  Lazarus  in  no  way 
suggested  the  rich  man’s  son,  with  a  life  of 
boundless,  reckless  pleasure.  His  face  had  a 
serious  look;  there  was  nothing  jaunty  in  his 
walk.  Indeed,  he  seemed  anxious,  as  if  trou¬ 
bled  in  some  way.  Though  he  had  met  Mar¬ 
cus  and  Benjamin  several  times — for  they  both 
lived  in  Bethany — they  were  not  in  his  circle  of 
friends.  So  he  merely  acknowledged  their  salu¬ 
tation  and  passed  on.  When  he  arrived  at 
home  Martha  gave  him  a  keen,  searching  look, 
for  he  impressed  her  as  being  more  tired  than 
usual,  and  in  her  direct  way  asked  him  if  he 
was  sick. 

“No,  but  I  have  had  rather  a  hard  day. 
Things  haven’t  gone  just  right.  My  head  has 


106 


THE  MASTER 


troubled  me  a  little.”  Then  smiling  gently,  he 
added,  ‘T  don’t  feel  quite  myself — if  you  know 
what  that  means.” 

For  Lazarus  to  be  sick  was  a  new  experience 
in  that  home.  Though  not  of  the  rugged  or 
stalwart  type,  he  was  vigorous  to  a  degree  often 
surprising,  and  able  to  relieve  his  father  of 
most  of  his  business  burdens.  At  the  evening 
meal  Martha  observed  that  he  hardly  even 
looked  at  the  dishes  the  servants  brought  to 
him,  and  seemed  relieved  when  the  supper  was 
over.  On  the  balcony,  where  the  family  usually 
gathered  for  a  social  hour,  talking  pleasantly 
over  the  day’s  happenings,  he  was  listless,  tak¬ 
ing  little  part  in  the  conversation,  only  answer¬ 
ing  when  spoken  to,  and  in  a  voice  very  unlike 
the  one  to  which  they  were  accustomed.  Mary 
drew  her  chair  over  to  the  one  Lazarus  occu¬ 
pied  and  gently  placed  her  hand  on  his,  then 
softly  smoothed  his  brow,  soon  detecting  the 
fever  that  was  burning  in  his  blood.  In  a 
flash  her  eyes  found  those  of  Martha  and  soon 
the  servants  were  called  and  Lazarus  was  taken 
to  his  room.  When  the  morning  came  he  was 
no  better.  Despite  the  care  and  devotion  of 
these  loving  sisters  the  fever  steadily  gained, 
and  though  every  possible  remedy  was  applied 
nothing  seemed  to  avail. 

“O  where  is  the  Master?”  Mary  cried;  “why 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


107 


haven’t  we  sent  for  him?  He  loves  Lazarus. 
He  will  surely  come  when  he  hears  that  he  is 
sick.  All  we  have  to  do  is  send  a  messenger. 
We  needn’t  even  ask  him  to  come.  Martha, 
call  one  of  the  servants.  Tell  him  to  hurry 
over  to  Perea,  where  the  Master  is  now  with 
his  disciples.  While  the  servant  is  getting 
ready  I  will  prepare  the  message  for  him.” 

It  was  a  short  message.  There  was  no  ap¬ 
peal.  No  urgent  call  for  help.  No  entreaty 
for  the  Master’s  presence.  Just  a  few  words, 
but  so  suggestive,  so  significant,  so  confident: 
“Master,  behold,  he  whom  thou  lovest  is 
sick.” 

Leaving  the  sick  chamber  for  a  few  mo¬ 
ments,  the  sisters  stood  on  the  balcony,  watch¬ 
ing  the  servant  as  he  hurried  away,  their  eyes 
following  him  until  he  reached  a  bend  in  the 
road  and  passed  out  of  sight. 

Now,  their  anxiety  seemed  to  disappear.  A 
glad  light  came  upon  each  face.  Mary,  always 
sweet  and  gentle,  was  even  more  so,  as  she 
took  her  place  beside  the  couch  on  which  Laz¬ 
arus  lay.  Martha,  for  the  first  time  that  day, 
so  far  relaxed  as  to  smile  at  a  remark  of  a  serv¬ 
ant,  and  a  spirit  of  cheer  was  diffused  all 
through  the  household. 

“The  Master  is  coming,”  one  would  say  to 
the  other  with  brightening  face  and  shining 


108 


THE  MASTER 


eyes;  and  when  the  neighbors  called  to  in¬ 
quire  about  Lazarus  they  were  answered  with  a 
confidence  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 

Through  that  day  and  night  the  sisters 
watched  by  the  couch  of  Lazarus,  speaking  to 
him  in  gentle,  endearing  tones,  telling  him 
they  had  sent  for  the  Master,  and  that  he 
would  surely  come  on  the  morrow.  But  on 
the  morrow,  when  the  messenger  returned,  to 
their  amazement  the  Master  was  not  with  him. 

“What  did  he  say  when  you  gave  him  our 
message?”  Martha  asked,  in  a  voice  which  ex¬ 
pressed  both  sorrow  and  surprise.  . 

“He  said,  ‘This  sickness  is  not  unto  death.’  ” 

“Not  unto  death!”  Mary  sobbed;  “our 
brother  is  dying  now.  Unless  the  Master 
comes  at  once  nothing  can  save  him.  Was 
that  all  he  said?” 

“No,  for  after  saying  that  this  sickness  is 
not  unto  death,  he  added,  ‘but  for  the  glory 
of  God,  that  the  Son  of  God  might  be  glorified 
thereby.’  ” 

“But  why  didn’t  he  come?”  Martha  asked, 
vehemently,  tears  meanwhile  streaming  down 
her  cheeks.  “Surely,  he  won’t  stay  away  and 
let  Lazarus  die.  And  I  don’t  see  how  the 
death  of  our  brother  can  add  to  the  glory  of 
God.  I  can’t  understand  why  the  Master 
didn’t  come  when  he  knows  we  are  in  such 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


109 


trouble.  I  was  certain  he  would  be  here  long 
before  now.  And  all  we  get  is  this  message. 
Not  a  word  of  comfort.  Not  a  promise  of 
help.  It  is  so  unlike  him.  I  can’t  possibly  see 
why  he  should  fail  us  now.” 

Mary  didn’t  speak.  She  was  so  distressed 
at  the  response  of  the  Master,  so  amazed  at 
his  seeming  indifference,  that  speech  was  im¬ 
possible.  And  her  sorrow  was  not  only  because 
of  Lazarus,  but  because  of  her  deep  disappoint¬ 
ment  in  the  Master’s  neglect  of  those  whom  he 
professed  to  love. 

Everything  that  skill  could  suggest,  or  love 
provide,  was  done  for  Lazarus.  A  sleepless,  tire¬ 
less  vigil  was  kept  by  the  devoted  sisters.  But 
they  did  not  give  up  hope.  Though  with  each 
passing  hour  they  could  see  that  the  end  was 
not  far  off,  somehow  the  strange  words  of  the 
Master  came  to  them  again:  “This  sickness  is 
not  unto  death.”  What  could  they  mean? 
And  in  the  night,  when  everything  was  still 
save  a  moan  or  weak,  pitiful  cry  from  the 
dying  man,  Mary  would  listen  with  straining 
heart  for  the  sound  of  the  Master’s  footfall, 
or  perhaps  hear  his  voice  speaking  in  tones  of 
comfort  and  cheer.  Martha,  not  content  to 
listen,  would  open  the  window  or  go  down  the 
road,  and  more  than  once,  in  the  bright  moon¬ 
light,  she  was  certain  that  yonder  in  the  dis- 


110 


THE  MASTER 


tance,  he  was  hastening  to  their  home.  But 
though  Mary  sat,  her  soul  trembling  with  de¬ 
sire  and  hope;  and  Martha  would  strain  her 
eyes,  now  weary  with  watching,  no  Master 
appeared,  no  sound  of  his  voice  broke  the  still¬ 
ness  of  the  night. 

“Has  the  Master  come?”  Lazarus  feebly 
whispered,  close  upon  daybreak,  looking  at 
the  anxious,  tear-stained  faces  of  his  sisters, 
who  were  bending  over  his  couch. 

“No,”  answered  Mary,  in  a  voice  hardly 
audible. 

“Strange;  I  thought  he  would  come  when 
he  knew  I  was  sick.” 

Lazarus  could  just  speak,  taking  a  breath 
after  each  word.  Then  he  moved  slightly 
on  the  couch,  closed  his  eyes,  and  fell  into  the 
sleep  that  we  call  death. 

Over  in  Perea,  beyond  Jordan,  the  dis¬ 
ciples  were  discussing  the  strange  words  of  the 
Master  concerning  Lazarus;  also  his  purpose  to 
return  at  once  to  Judaea. 

“They  threatened  to  stone  him,”  Andrew  said, 
with  an  indignation  that  was  very  manifest. 

“But  Lazarus  is  sick,”  Matthew  responded. 
“The  Master  is  needed  in  Bethany,  and  he  will 
surely  go  there  no  matter  what  the  Judaeans 
may  say  or  do.” 

“But  he  said  this  sickness  was  not  unto 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


111 


death.  Why  must  we  risk  being  stoned  when 
there  is  no  need  of  it.?  He  also  said  our  friend 
Lazarus  sleepeth,  which  is  a  good  sign  and 
means  that  he  is  getting  better.” 

It  was  Judas  who  spoke,  and  there  was  a 
good  degree  of  impatience,  almost  anger,  in 
his  voice. 

So  far  Thomas  had  taken  no  part  in  the  dis¬ 
cussion.  He  rarely  did.  This  time,  however, 
he  broke  in  by  saying:  “Are  we  afraid  to  go 
with  the  Master?  Are  we  to  leave  him  to  face 
the  Judaeans  alone?  We  are  not  worthy  to  be 
called  his  disciples  if  we  desert  him  now.  We 
can  at  least  die  with  him.” 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  sincerity  of 
Thomas.  It  was  evident  in  the  flashing  of  his 
eyes,  the  stern  expression  of  his  face,  the  clear, 
ringing  voice  with  which  he  spoke,  also  the 
indignant,  reproachful  look  he  gave  Judas. 
The  other  disciples  were  surprised  at  the  earn¬ 
estness  of  Thomas.  He  was  usually  so  cautious 
in  his  speech,  in  every  way  far  more  restrained 
than  the  others.  And  the  fact  that  he  was 
wont  to  be  silent  made  his  words  all  the  more 
impressive. 

The  face  of  Judas  was  the  only  one  in  the 
group  which  did  not  light  up  under  this  ap¬ 
peal  of  Thomas.  All  of  the  others  gave  an  im¬ 
mediate  response.  But  Judas  maintained  his 


112 


THE  MASTER 


sullen,  dogged  expression  even  after  the  dis¬ 
ciples,  with  the  Master  in  their  midst,  had 
started  on  the  way  to  Bethany. 

In  some  way  tidings  were  brought  to  the 
stricken  home  that  the  Master  had  left  Perea 
and  was  coming  to  Bethany.  When  Martha 
heard  that  he  was  so  close  at  hand  she  instantly 
left  the  room  where  the  mourners  had  gath¬ 
ered  and  with  eager,  impatient  heart  went  out 
to  meet  him. 

“O,  why  didn’t  he  come  before?”  she  kept 
asking  herself,  as  she  hastened  along  the  road, 
the  tears  so  blinding  her  that  she  would  stum¬ 
ble  at  times.  But  she  pressed  on,  meeting  the 
Master  and  his  disciples  before  they  entered 
the  village. 

Without  pausing  to  realize  the  full  meaning 
of  her  words,  or  the  reproach  they  implied, 
and  not  even  asking  why  he  had  not  come 
before,  Martha  abruptly  said, 

“Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother 
had  not  died.” 

With  infinite  tenderness  the  Master  replied, 
“Martha,  thy  brother  shall  rise  again.” 

“Yes,  I  know,  he  shall  rise  again  in  the  resur¬ 
rection,  in  the  last  day.  All  the  dead  shall  be 
raised  then.  But  I  believe  that  even  now, 
whatsoever  thou  wilt  ask  of  God,  God  will 
give  it  thee.” 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


113 


Martha  looked  earnestly  into  the  face  of  the 
Master  as  she  spoke.  She  seemed  possessed 
with  a  vague  hope  that  it  was  not  yet  too  late 
for  some  strange  thing  to  be  done.  For  a  few 
moments  the  Master  made  no  reply.  Nor  did 
any  of  the  disciples  speak;  tears,  though,  glis¬ 
tened  in  their  eyes,  as  they  heard  the  tender, 
pleading  voice  of  Martha. 

Then  with  an  amazement,  which  they  did 
not  attempt  to  conceal,  they  heard  the  Mas¬ 
ter  say,  ‘T  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life; 
he  that  believeth  in  me  though  he  were  dead 
yet  shall  he  live.” 

Never  were  such  words  spoken  before.  The 
disciples  looked  first  at  the  Master,  then  at 
Martha,  then  at  each  other.  Could  the  Mas¬ 
ter  have  meant  what  he  said?  Perhaps  it  was 
not  his  intent  that  these  words  should  be 
taken  literally.  But  as  though  he  would  make 
doubt  impossible,  in  the  same  thrilling  voice 
they  heard  him  say,  “And  whosoever  liveth 
and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die.” 

Turning  to  Martha,  whose  eyes  had  never 
left  the  Master’s  face,  and  into  whose  heart 
each  word  had  a  divine  meaning,  he  asked, 

“Belie vest  thou  this?” 

“Yes,  Master,  I  do,”  was  the  immediate  re¬ 
sponse. 

“Then  call  Mary;  I  wish  to  speak  with  her.” 


114 


THE  MASTER 


When  Martha  returned  to  her  home  in 
Bethany  she  found  Mary  surrounded  by 
friends,  who  had  come  with  messages  and 
words  of  comfort. 

“The  Master  has  come  and  calleth  for  thee,’’ 
she  whispered  to  Mary. 

“The  Master?”  said  Mary,  a  look  of  wonder 
on  her  face. 

“Yes,  he  is  just  outside  the  village,  not  far 
from  the  grave  of  our  brother.” 

Mary  instantly  arose  and  silently  went  out, 
all  the  mourners  naturally  thinking  she  had 
gone  with  Martha  to  the  place  of  burial  that 
they  might  weep  together.  But  it  was  not  to 
the  grave  they  went,  for  in  the  distance  Mary 
saw  the  Master  and  soon  she  was  at  his  feet, 
saying,  just  as  Martha  had  said,  with  perhaps 
a  deeper  sorrow, 

“Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother 
had  not  died.” 

Then  ensued  a  silence  broken  only  by  the 
sobs  of  these  loving  women.  But  in  his  spirit 
the  Master  was  troubled.  His  was  a  grief  too 
deep  for  voice  or  speech.  No  sob  or  sound 
came  from  him.  His  tears,  however,  could 
not  be  restrained.  Silently  they  rolled  down 
his  face,  each  tear  a  witness  of  the  intense 
feeling  in  his  soul. 

Yet  even  at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


115 


place  there  were  those  who  jeered  and  mocked! 
Some  rulers  of  the  synagogue  were  there.  And 
not  to  express  sympathy  with  the  bereaved 
home,  for  they  only  smiled  in  derision  when 
they  saw  the  tears  of  the  Master. 

‘‘This  is  the  man  who  claims  to  be  a  miracle- 
worker!  Only  last  week  he  pretended  to  open 
a  blind  man’s  eyes,”  one  ruler  whispered  to 
another,  loud  enough  for  the  Master  to  hear. 

“He  was  careful  to  remain  in  Perea  until 
Lazarus  died,  else  he  might  have  been  expected 
to  cure  him.  Now  he  comes  when  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  do  anything.  They  sent  for  him  nearly 
a  week  ago,  but  he  was  too  wise  to  come  then,” 
another  ruler  whispered  back,  also  loud  enough 
for  the  Master  to  hear. 

Then  another  of  the  rulers,  even  more  bitter 
and  malignant,  said,  “He  can’t  deceive  the 
people  here  as  he  did  those  in  the  house  of 
Jairus.  I  have  talked  with  Jairus,  and  am  con¬ 
vinced  the  child  was  in  a  trance.  And  the  same 
is  true  of  the  widow’s  son  in  the  village  of  Nain. 
Of  one  thing  we  are  sure,  Lazarus  is  dead.  No 
chance  for  this  deceiver,  therefore,  to  work  one 
of  his  pretended  miracles  here.”  And  the 
speaker,  who  had  come  from  Jerusalem,  osten¬ 
sibly  as  a  mourner,  but  actually  as  a  spy, 
almost  gloated  because  of  his  certainty  that 
Lazarus  was  really  dead. 


116 


THE  MASTER 


Seemingly  unmoved  by  what  was  being  said, 
the  Master  proceeded  calmly  to  the  sepulcher, 
which  was  a  cave,  cut  in  a  rock,  protected  by 
a  huge  stone.  The  company,  consisting  of  the 
disciples,  Mary  and  Martha,  some  of  the  rulers 
and  mourners,  and  a  few  others  to  whom  bur¬ 
ials  and  burial  places  have  a  peculiar  attrac¬ 
tion,  formed  a  semicircle  facing  the  tomb. 

The  Master,  in  a  commanding  voice,  said, 
“Take  ye  away  the  stone.” 

“O  Master,”  said  Martha,  in  tones  of  earnest 
entreaty,  “my  brother  has  been  dead  four 
days.  Corruption  has  already  set  in.  His 
features  will  have  changed.  We  would  rather 
not  see  him  as  he  is  now.  He  has  not  yet  been 
embalmed.  Do  not,  I  beseech  thee,  have  the 
stone  taken  away.” 

With  tender,  pitying  eyes,  the  Master  looked 
at  Martha,  then  at  Mary,  whose  face  silently 
voiced  her  sister’s  appeal;  but  at  a  sign,  which 
the  disciples  understood,  the  stone  was  re¬ 
moved  and  the  body  of  Lazarus  lay  before 
them  all — dead,  unquestionably  dead.  It  was 
surely  a  strange  scene.  Death  in  the  presence 
of  life,  life  awed  and  hushed  in  the  presence  of 
death. 

Then  the  Master  prayed,  and  a  wondrous 
prayer  it  was,  its  first  word  being  one  of  thanks, 
its  last  word  for  the  people  assembled  at  that 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


117 


ii 


II 

i{ 

II 

II 

II 


I 

II 

II 

n 

Ij 

ii 

[ 


Ii 

II 

II 


ii' 


!l 

H 


tomL.  Closer  the  little  company  gathered 
about  the  grave.  Every  eye  rested  intently 
on  the  body  of  the  dead  Lazarus,  and  all  won¬ 
dering  what  the  Master  was  about  to  say  or 
do.  It  was  not,  surely,  that  he  might  take  a 
last  look  at  the  face  of  his  friend  that  he  had 
caused  the  stone  to  be  removed.  Some  other 
purpose  was  in  his  mind.  Besides,  he  had 
said  they  would  see  the  glory  of  God.  What 
could  he  mean  by  such  words  as  these?  An 
oppressive  silence  fell  upon  everyone. 

With  a  swift  glance  into  the  silent  tomb, 
then  at  the  Master,  they  all  waited  in  silence. 
Though  the  faces  of  the  rulers  maintained  their 
expression  of  doubt  and  suspicion,  they  also 
had  a  look  of  wonder  and  dread  as  well. 
Martha  stood  close  to  the  grave,  with  one 
arm  supporting  Mary,  who  trembled  as  if 
frightened.  After  removing  the  stone,  the  dis¬ 
ciples  who  had  rendered  that  service  drew 
back  and  joined  the  others,  without  so  much 
as  a  whisper  passing  between  them.  Overhead 
was  a  cloudless  sky  of  deepest  blue.  The  birds 
in  the  trees  close  by  were  strangely  silent, 
though  it  was  the  hour  when  they  were  wont 
to  sing.  A  faint  wind,  just  enough  to  temper 
and  sweeten  the  air,  moved  gently  through  the 
place  of  burial. 

Having  finished  his  prayer,  the  Master,  going 


118 


THE  MASTER 


up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  called  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  ‘‘Lazarus,  come  forth!” 

The  thrill  of  that  voice  fell  upon  every  heart. 
There  was  in  it  a  quality  so  peculiar,  so  pene¬ 
trating,  so  mysterious,  that  they  all  shuddered. 
Then,  to  their  amazement,  their  unspeakable 
wonder,  the  white-clothed  form  in  the  cave 
was  seen  to  move  as  though  in  life;  before  their 
eyes  the  figure  sat  up.  It  was  no  vision,  no 
dream,  no  illusion,  for  now  Lazarus,  a  living, 
breathing  figure,  stood  upright,  and  though 
cumbered  with  graveclothes,  walked  to  the 
mouth  of  the  sepulcher. 

Martha  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  Mary 
stood  spellbound.  The  disciples,  strong  men 
as  they  were,  looked  at  the  moving  figure  with 
a  fascination  equal  almost  to  terror.  But  the 
Master  had  no  fear.  To  him  Lazarus  was  no 
apparition,  no  spirit  from  the  unseen  world,  no 
spectral  visitant  to  cause  alarm  or  create  dis¬ 
tress;  so  in  the  same  voice  with  which  he  had 
told  them  to  remove  the  stone  he  said,  referring 
to  the  vestments  with  which  Lazarus  was 
bound,  “Loose  him  and  let  him  go.” 

Peter,  ever  ready  to  obey  the  Master’s  word, 
at  once  sprang  forward  to  undo  the  garments 
that  fettered  the  hands  and  feet  of  Lazarus. 
The  others  eagerly  assisted,  and  soon  the  fine 
linen  was  so  rearranged  that  instead  of  being  a 


CHRIST  AND  LAZARUS 


119 


vestment  for  the  dead  it  became  a  vesture  for 
the  living. 

How  different  the  return  to  Bethany  from 
the  journey  of  a  few  days  before!  Then  they 
had  taken  Lazarus  away;  now  he  was  coming 
back.  Then  the  village  was  stricken  with  sor¬ 
row,  for  Lazarus  and  his  sisters  had  friends  in 
every  home;  now  they  were  gathered  in  knots 
and  groups  eagerly  telling  each  other  the  won¬ 
derful  story  of  Lazarus  being  restored  to  life. 

The  strange  tidings  soon  reached  Jerusalem, 
of  which  Bethany  was  a  suburb,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  chariots  began  to  arrive  crowded 
with  people,  friends,  acquaintances — even 
strangers — all  anxious  to  see  Lazarus,  to  speak 
with  him,  to  take  him  by  the  hand,  so  as  to 
assure  themselves  that  the  things  they  had 
heard  were  really  true.  It  was  a  day  of  the 
strangest  excitement,  and  when  night  came 
the  sisters  gladly  sought  their  chamber,  for 
they  were  very  weary.  Just  before  retiring 
Mary  said  to  Martha, 

“Tell  me  again  what  the  Master  said  to  you 
this  morning.” 

“This  is  what  he  said,”  Martha  answered: 
“  T  am  the  resurrection,  and  the  life;  he  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  be¬ 
lieveth  in  me  shall  never  die/  ” 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED 


“l^TATHANAEL,”  said  Philip,  speaking 
with  much  earnestness,  ^'yo\i  remem¬ 
ber  when  John  was  baptizing  in  Jor¬ 
dan  I  told  you  we  had  found  Him  of  whom 
Moses  in  the  law  and  prophets  did  write?’ • 

“I  remember  it  well,  and  I  was  sure  you 
were  mistaken,  for  I  asked,  ‘Can  there  any 
good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth?’  But  when 
the  Master  said  he  had  seen  me  under  the  fig 
tree  before  you  called  me,  I  knew  then  he  was 
the  Son  of  God,  the  King  of  Israel.” 

Nathanael’s  reply  caused  Philip  to  put  an¬ 
other  question:  “Are  you  as  certain  now  as 
you  were  then  that  he  is  the  Messiah,  the  One 
sent  of  God,  of  whose  coming  Jacob  prophesied 
so  long  ago?  He  said  the  scepter  would  not 
depart  from  Judah  nor  a  lawgiver  from  be¬ 
tween  his  feet  until  Shiloh  come.  And  now, 
Nathanael,  the  scepter  has  departed  from 
Judah;  we  have  a  Roman  king;  we  do  not  make 
our  own  laws;  and  I  have  a  feeling  that  these 
prophecies  relate  in  some  way  to  the  Master.” 

Nathanael  was  not  ready  to  answer  Philip’s 
question.  He  was  in  much  perplexity  of  mind. 
In  common  with  all  devout  and  faithful  Jews, 

120 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  121 

he  had  looked  for  the  coming  Messias.  He 
had  been  brought  up  on  that  hope.  His 
fathers  before  him  had  cherished  the  same  de¬ 
sire.  But  the  advent  of  the  Messias  was  to  be 
an  event  of  such  imperial  splendor,  as  imme¬ 
diately  to  so  impress  itself  that  at  once  the 
redemption  of  Israel  would  come  to  pass.  He 
looked  over  to  where  the  Master  was  standing, 
clothed,  as  always,  in  the  garb  of  a  peasant; 
his  hands  bearing  the  marks  of  the  toil  with 
which  he  earned  his  bread;  his  bearing  that  of 
one  accustomed  to  hardship  and  poverty;  and 
he  wondered,  even  to  the  point  of  doubt,  if 
he  really  could  be  the  Messias.  So  the  ques¬ 
tion  of  Philip  remained  unanswered. 

Turning  suddenly,  the  Master,  in  that  clear 
yet  tender  voice,  with  which  he  was  wont  to 
speak  to  the  disciples,  asked,  “Whom  do  men 
say  that  I  am?” 

Such  a  question  was  so  unlike  him  that  the 
disciples  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise.  He 
had  never  seemed  to  care  how  the  people  re¬ 
garded  him.  With  superb  independence  he 
had  gone  from  one  place  to  another,  doing  and 
saying  the  strangest  things,  and  when  ques¬ 
tioned  would  refuse  to  say  who  he  was,  or  by 
what  authority  he  had  been  commissioned. 

Nathanael,  remembering  Philip’s  question, 
and  seeing  a  way  by  which  his  own  perplexity 


122 


THE  MASTER 


might  be  relieved,  said,  “Some  people  think 
you  are  Elijah.’’ 

In  that  reply  Nathanael  meant  no  disre¬ 
spect,  but  just  the  contrary.  No  prophet  was 
more  vividly  remembered,  or  had  made  such 
an  impression  on  the  nation  as  Elijah.  Be¬ 
sides,  he  was  associated  with  the  promised 
Messias,  for  Malachi,  the  last  of  their  great 
prophets,  had  named  him  as  the  forerunner  of 
the  long-expected  King. 

The  Master  gently  smiled,  then  looked  at 
Philip,  who  said,  “Some  of  the  people  think 
you  are  Jeremiah.” 

As  a  prophet  Jeremiah  was  held  in  high 
esteem.  And  there  was  much  in  his  character 
which  corresponded  with  that  of  the  Master. 
He  was  gentle,  tender-hearted,  wonderfully  lov¬ 
ing,  yet  of  unbending  firmness,  a  man  of  iron 
in  loyalty  and  endurance. 

Again  the  Master  smiled  when  Matthew 
said,  “And  others  think  you  are  John  the  Bap¬ 
tist,  who  has  been  raised  from  the  dead.” 

Then  with  a  look  which  pierced  the  soul  of 
each  man  in  that  company,  and  in  a  voice 
none  could  resist,  the  Master  asked,  “But 
whom  say  ye  that  I  am?” 

Instantly  Peter  responded,  “Thou  art  the 
Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God.” 

Never  was  Peter  more  impressive  than  at 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  128 


this  moment.  He,  for  the  time,  was  no  rugged, 
coarse-handed  fisherman,  of  heavy  form, 
bronzed  face,  rough  voice;  he  was  a  chosen 
herald,  making  a  royal  announcement;  a  fore¬ 
runner,  proclaiming  the  dignity  and  station  of 
his  King;  a  prophet,  unfolding  a  divine  mes¬ 
sage,  one  specially  intrusted  to  him.  No  won¬ 
der  the  disciples  looked  at  him  so  intently,  or 
gave  such  heed  to  what  he  said.  But  much 
greater  was  their  wonder  when  they  saw  the 
Master  lay  his  hand  affectionately  on  Peter’s 
shoulder,  his  face  flaming  with  divine  light, 
his  eyes  shining  with  holy  fire,  and  say: 

“Blessed  art  thou,  Simon  Bar-jona;  for  flesh 
and  blood  hath  not  revealed  it  unto  thee,  but 
my  Father  which  is  in  heaven.  And  I  say 
also  unto  thee.  That  thou  art  Peter,  and  upon 
^  this  rock  I  will  build  my  church,  and  the  gates 
of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it.  And  I  will 
give  unto  thee  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven;  and  whatsoever  thou  shalt  bind  on 
earth  shall  be  bound  in  heaven;  and  whatso¬ 
ever  thou  shalt  loose  on  earth  shall  be  loosed 
in  heaven.” 

'  A  strange  scene  surely  was  this.  And  strange 
that  it  should  be  enacted  here.  For  this  was 
‘  in  Caesarea  Philippi,  far  from  Nazareth,  far 

/'  from  Jerusalem,  a  country  almost  as  pagan  as 

} 

imperial  Rome,  and  where  Jewish  life  was 


124 


THE  MASTER 


hardly  known.  From  where  he  stood  the  Mas¬ 
ter  could  see  the  city,  luxurious,  powerful,  a 
marvel  of  wealth  and  beauty,  with  its  won¬ 
drous  temple  built  by  Herod  in  honor  of 
Augustus;  its  mighty  fortress  crowning  the 
hill,  where  bands  of  Roman  soldiers  kept  con¬ 
stant  watch.  In  the  rocks  close  at  hand  he 
could  read  the  countless  inscriptions,  cut  so 
clear  and  deep  as  to  outlast  the  ages,  for 
Caesarea  Philippi  had  many  gods  and  many 
altars. 

Yet  it  was  here  that  the  Master  began  the 
building  of  his  church,  placing  his  disciples  in 
its  foundation;  and  giving  them  to  understand 
that  under  his  inspiration  they  were  to  carry 
forward  that  work,  making  it  so  massive,  so 
mighty,  that  even  the  gates  of  hell  should  not 
prevail  against  it. 

When  he  ceased  speaking  a  feeling  of  pro¬ 
found  awe  rested  on  that  little  company. 
There  was  something  so  amazing  in  what  he 
proposed  that  they  were  almost  terror  stricken. 
To  build  a  church  so  supreme  as  not  only  to 
have  power  on  earth,  but  power  in  heaven; 
to  place  in  its  hand  the  keys  of  the  invisible, 
spiritual  world;  they,  fishermen,  carpenters, 
taxgatherers,  to  be  chosen  for  such  a  tran¬ 
scendent  service — even  to  imagine  such  a  thing 
was  impossible! 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  125 


But  there  stood  the  Master;  calm  as  the 
deep,  eternal  sky,  into  whose  glory  they  could 
look,  without  a  cloud  to  dim  its  radiance; 
strong,  as  the  giant  rocks  upon  which  Caesarea 
Philippi  had  built  its  fortress  and  its  temples; 
confident,  as  the  warrior  who  knows  that  the 
battle  is  already  won.  And  as  they  looked  at 
him,  so  self-reliant,  so  certain,  so  absolute, 
their  eyes  began  to  shine,  great  hopes  came 
throbbing  to  their  hearts,  a  spirit  of  daring 
entered  their  souls,  and  they  felt,  as  never 
before,  the  glory  of  the  mission  to  which  the 
Master  had  called  them. 

Like  all  great  teachers  and  thinkers,  the 
Master  was  fond  of  the  mountains,  the  sea¬ 
shore,  even  the  wilderness.  Cities  trammeled 
him.  He  felt  restricted.  Nor  was  the  air  pure. 
There  was  too  much  noise.  The  strife  of 
tongues  wearied  him.  So  after  ministering  for 
some  days  in  the  region  of  Csesarea  Philippi, 
he  took  Peter  and  James  and  John  to  one  of 
the  hills  of  Mount  Hermon,  the  summit  being 
nearly  always  covered  with  snow.  The  Master 
said  little  during  the  hours  of  this  journey. 
He  seemed  unusually  thoughtful.  And  he  pre¬ 
ferred  to  be  alone.  That  soon  became  evident, 
so  the  three  chosen  ones  gradually  fell  behind 
to  such  a  distance  that  they  could  freely  speak 
without  being  overheard. 


126 


THE  MASTER 


‘T  know,’’  Peter  said,  ‘‘he  rebuked  me  at 
Caesarea  Philippi  because  when  he  spoke  of 
the  chief  priests  and  scribes  putting  him  to 
death,  I  couldn’t  believe  it  possible  and  hoped 
God  would  forbid  such  a  thing.  And  I  am  of 
the  same  mind  now,”  Peter  continued  de¬ 
fiantly,  speaking,  however,  in  a  lower  tone; 
“why  should  they  kill  him.^  He  has  broken 
no  law  either  Roman  or  Jewish.  And  if  he  is 
put  to  death,  what  becomes  of  the  church  he 
spoke  of  the  other  day.^” 

“Yes,”  John  replied,  “but  he  said  he  would 
be  raised  again  the  third  day.” 

“The  more  I  see  of  the  Master,”  James 
said,  “the  more  I  love  him,  yet  I  do  not 
understand  him.  When  I  first  became  a  dis¬ 
ciple  I  thought  he  would  restore  again  the 
kingdom  to  Israel.  He  seemed  to  have  all 
power,  could  do  anything  he  pleased,  raise  the 
dead,  quell  the  storm  on  the  lake,  feed  the 
multitude.  You  have  seen  him  do  many  other 
things  as  well,  and  I  expected  long  ago  that 
he  would  have  established  openly  his  claim  to 
the  Messiahship.” 

“What  do  you  think  now.^”  Peter  asked,  in 
his  abrupt  way. 

“I  don’t  know  what  to  think,”  James  re¬ 
plied,  frankly.  “I  love  him,  would  die  for  him, 
will  follow  him  to  the  end  whatever  it  may  be, 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  127 


but  his  idea  of  the  kingdom  is  so  unlike  any¬ 
thing  I  had  imagined,  and  his  teaching  is  so  dif¬ 
ferent  from  that  of  the  chief  priests  and  scribes 
as  to  create  doubt  and  confusion  in  my  mind.” 

For  some  time  nothing  was  said,  each  man 
being  busy  with  his  own  thoughts,  though  look¬ 
ing  now  and  then  at  the  sunset  on  the  snows  of 
Mount  Hermon.  John,  who  at  heart  was  a 
mystic  and  in  soul  a  poet,  watched  the  chang¬ 
ing  colors,  the  crimson  turning  to  purple,  the 
gold  deepening  into  red,  then  the  shadows  come 
creeping  from  the  sky  and  descend  softly  to  the 
foothills. 

Meanwhile  the  Master  had  found  a  quiet 
resting  place,  where  alone  he  might  commune 
with  God.  Respecting  his  desire,  the  disciples 
remained  some  little  distance  apart,  but  near 
enough  to  see  his  face,  though  they  could  not 
hear  his  voice.  Instinctively  they  felt  he  was 
at  prayer,  and  a  sacred  hush  fell  upon  them. 
The  night  was  strangely  still.  Not  a  sound 
broke  upon  what  seemed  a  divine  repose.  The 
sky  under  which  they  sat  held  not  a  single 
cloud.  So  intense  was  the  silence  that  they 
were  oppressed  and  would  not  even  whisper  to 
each  other.  At  length  they  heard  the  soft, 
tender,  pleading  voice  of  the  Master,  and 
thinking  that  perhaps  he  was  calling  them, 
they  looked,  when,  to  their  amazement,  they 


128 


THE  MASTER 


saw  his  face  shine  with  a  greater  glory  than 
the  sun,  which  in  surpassing  beauty  had  gone 
down  behind  Mount  Hermon.  The  radiance 
of  that  face  was  so  brilliant  as  to  fill  them  with 
wonder,  for  it  spread  from  the  Master  and 
illumined  the  place  where  he  stood.  Then  his 
garments,  the  coarse,  common  raiment  he 
usually  wore,  soiled  and  stained  with  the  marks 
of  his  daily  toil,  all  at  once  became  white  as 
the  light,  a  whiteness  so  startling  that  it  daz¬ 
zled,  almost  blinding  them.  And  as  though 
those  things  were  not  enough  to  bewilder  them, 
two  mysterious  figures  came  out  of  the  silent 
sky,  and  standing  close  to  the  Master,  began 
speaking  with  him.  They  could  hear  also 
something  of  what  these  strange  visitants  said, 
and  soon  discovered  that  they  were  Moses  and 
Elijah,  who  had  come  to  talk  with  the  Master 
of  the  decease  which  he  should  accomplish  at 
Jerusalem.  Moses,  the  great  lawgiver,  the  man 
to  whose  burial  only  angels  were  summoned 
and  whose  tomb  is  lost  in  the  mysteries  of  God; 
Elijah,  the  great  reformer,  whose  iron  hand 
could  open  gates  of  flame,  and  whose  passage 
heavenward  was  in  chariots  of  fire — these  men, 
whose  names  were  dear  to  every  Jewish  heart, 
were  there  before  their  wondering  eyes,  and 
with  a  glory  greater  than  they  had  ever  known 
on  earth. 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  129 


Trembling  with  excitement,  thrilled  as  they 
had  not  deemed  possible — for  all  three  were 
fishermen,  and  familiar,  therefore,  with  strange 
and  exciting  things — these  men  stood  eager, 
intense,  alert,  open-eyed,  their  faces  strained 
with  the  wonders  and  mysteries  of  the  night. 
But  even  greater  things  were  yet  to  come,  for 
now  a  cloud,  as  that  which  stood  over  the 
tabernacle  in  the  desert,  overshadowed  them, 
and  in  that  cloud  they  feared,  for  they  could 
not  see  the  Master;  Moses  and  Elijah  were 
also  hidden  from  them. 

Only  that  they  were  men  of  superb  courage 
they  would  have  cried  to  the  Master  in  their 
distress,  for  none  but  the  most  daring  and 
mighty  of  heart  could  have  endured  such  a 
night,  but  when  a  Voice  from  the  cloud,  in 
tones  which  once  heard  could  never  be  for¬ 
gotten,  proclaimed,  ‘‘This  is  my  beloved  Son, 
in  whom  I  am  well  pleased;  hear  ye  him,” 
these  strong,  rugged  men  of  the  sea  could  no 
longer  bear  the  strain;  a  great  dread  came 
upon  them,  and  they  fell  on  their  faces  and 
were  sore  afraid. 

Bending  over  them  and  gently  touching  them, 
the  Master  said,  “Arise,  and  be  not  afraid.” 

Standing  up,  they  looked  around  as  men  in 
a  dream.  The  cloud  had  gone.  Moses  and 
Elijah  had  vanished,  going  as  mysteriously  as 


130 


THE  MASTER 


they  had  come.  The  garments  of  the  Master 
no  longer  glistened  with  a  whiteness  beyond 
anything  they  had  ever  seen.  His  face  was 
quiet  and  strong,  as  always,  but  the  strange 
light  was  not  there.  Perhaps  it  was  only  a 
dream,  a  wild  fancy  of  the  night,  the  natural 
result  of  their  eagerness  to  prove  that  the 
Master  was  really  the  Messiah  of  God.  But 
when  he  said,  ‘‘Tell  the  vision  to  no  man  until 
the  Son  of  man  be  risen  again  from  the  dead,” 
they  knew  it  was  no  dream,  no  strange  delusion 
of  the  mind,  but  a  glorious  reality,  such  a 
manifestation  of  the  Master’s  relationship  with 
the  unseen  world  as  they  would  remember  for 
all  time  to  come. 

“Peter,  what  do  you  think  that  vision  really 
meant  to  the  Master,  and  for  what  purpose 
was  it  given.^”  This  was  the  question  of  James 
as  they  were  coming  from  the  mountain.  “You 
wanted  to  stay  there,  to  have  us  build  three 
tabernacles,  one  for  the  Master,  one  for  Moses, 
one  for  Elijah,  but  evidently  you  didn’t  know 
just  what  you  were  saying.” 

James  was  able  to  speak  in  the  plainest, 
frankest  way,  yet  give  no  offense. 

Peter  smiled.  In  a  dim,  confused  way  he 
recalled  his  impulsive  utterance  on  the  moun¬ 
tain,  and  now  realized  how  thoughtless  and 
unmeaning  was  his  request. 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  131 


‘T  think,”  said  John,  who  saw  that  Peter 
hesitated,  “the  vision  was  to  prepare  the  Mas¬ 
ter  for  the  death  at  the  hands  of  the  chief 
priests  and  scribes,  of  which  he  has  so  often 
spoken.  At  first,  like  Peter,  I  couldn’t  imagine 
such  a  thing,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  too 
true.  Just  see  how  they  have  driven  him  from 
one  place  to  another,  and  actually  charge  him 
with  being  in  league  with  the  devil.” 

“If  they  had  heard  that  voice  from  the 
cloud  saying,  ‘This  is  my  beloved  Son,’  they 
would  know  how  God  approves  of  the  Master,” 
Peter  said,  with  deep  emotion. 

“But  why  were  Moses  and  Elijah  there?  I 
could  easily  understand  Isaiah  coming,  for  he 
is  Messiah’s  prophet,  and  almost  every  day  I 
can  see  in  the  Master  some  new  fulfillment  of 
Isaiah’s  words.  Or  David  might  have  come, 
for  he,  though  not  a  prophet,  often  prophesied 
much  as  Isaiah  did.  To  me  it  seems  strange 
that  Moses  and  Elijah  should  be  chosen  as 
witnesses  and  also  to  speak  to  the  Master  of 
his  decease  in  Jerusalem.” 

It  was  James  who  spoke. 

They  had  now  reached  a  soft,  mossy  bank 
which  looked  cool  and  inviting,  so  they  sat 
down,  the  Master  going  on  farther,  anxious, 
seemingly,  to  reach  the  valley  where  the  other 
disciples  had  remained. 


132 


THE  MASTER 


‘T  also/’  John  said,  ‘‘wondered  at  the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  Moses  and  Elijah,  but,  thinking 
it  all  over,  I  can  see  good  reasons  for  it.  They 
were  not  there  as  prophets;  so  far  as  I  can 
recall  neither  of  them  spoke  a  word  of  proph¬ 
ecy.  Moses  was  a  lawgiver,  Elijah  was  a  re¬ 
former;  and  they  had  both  come  to  confess 
that  the  law  had  failed,  that  reform  had  failed, 
and  the  only  possible  hope  for  the  world  was 
in  the  decease  which  the  Master  should  ac¬ 
complish  at  Jerusalem.  Couldn’t  you  hear,  at 
least,  part  of  what  Moses  said?  And  Elijah 
almost  repeated  his  cry  of  the  wilderness 
when  he  said  that  the  people  had  forsaken 
the  covenant,  slain  the  prophets,  overthrown 
the  altars,  and  in  every  way  had  forsaken 
God.” 

John’s  eyes  were  closed  as  he  spoke.  Yet 
from  the  expression  on  his  face  it  would  seem 
as  if  he  were  seeing  more  than  the  crowd  in 
the  valley,  or  the  men  who  sat  beside  him  on 
the  little  plateau. 

“Yes,”  he  went  on,  “law  has  failed.  Just 
see  how  our  people  have  gone  into  idolatry 
and  sin  of  every  form.  And  reform  has  failed, 
even  more  sadly  than  law.  And  that  is  why 
Moses  and  Elijah  were  with  the  Master  on 
Mount  Hermon.” 

There  was  something  so  startling  yet  so 


THE  MASTER  TRANSFIGURED  133 


reasonable  in  what  John  said  that  neither 
Peter  nor  James  could  make  definite  reply. 

‘T  wish  you  could  explain  as  readily  the 
glorified  body  of  the  Master/’  said  Peter,  as 
he  stood  up,  getting  ready  to  resume  the 
journey  down  hill,  an  example  they  quickly 
followed. 

“It  may  be  that  the  Master’s  own  words  ex¬ 
plain  that,  for  has  he  not  spoken  of  being 
raised  from  the  dead  on  the  third  day.^  Who 
knows  but  that  glorified  body  which  we  saw 
is  the  body  in  which  he  shall  come  from  the 
tomb?”  John  replied,  as  he  started  walking 
rapidly,  hoping  to  overtake  the  Master. 

Many  years  after,  this  vision  came  back  to 
Peter,  and  he  wrote,  “We  have  not  followed 
cunningly  devised  fables  when  we  made  known 
unto  you  the  power  and  coming  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  but  were  eye-witnesses  of  his 
majesty  .  .  .  when  we  were  with  him  in  the 
holy  mount.” 


CHRIST  AND  THE  YOUNG  RULER 


ELKANAH,  a  Pharisee  of  high  rank, 
walked  to  and  fro  on  the  veranda  of 
his  home,  a  large,  imposing  dwelling, 
from  which  he  could  easily  see  Jerusalem, 
with  its  palaces  of  white  marble  and  its  won¬ 
drous  Temple.  But  though  Elkanah  would 
pause  at  times  and  look  at  the  city,  now  hold¬ 
ing  from  its  hillsides  the  glory  of  the  setting 
sun,  it  was  not  of  the  city  he  was  thinking,  nor 
of  the  sky  from  which  the  light  streamed  so 
abundantly.  It  was  a  young  Man  from  Naz¬ 
areth  who  was  occupying  his  thoughts,  and 
not  pleasantly,  judging  by  the  expression  on 
his  face.  His  brows  were  so  wrinkled  as  to 
suggest  a  scowl;  his  eyes  glittered  as  if  with 
anger,  and  his  walk  betrayed  something  of 
passion  and  impatience  as  well.  Striking  a 
brass  gong  which  hung  at  one  end  of  the  ver¬ 
anda,  he  stood  for  a  moment,  then  struck  it 
more  vigorously. 

“Did  you  see  Ephraim?”  he  irritably  asked 
the  servant  who  answered  the  gong. 

“Yes,  and  he  will  be  here  soon  after  sun¬ 
down.” 


134. 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


135 


“Anyone  coming  with  him?” — in  the  same 
tone  as  before. 

“Bezaleel  and  Hilkiah,  perhaps  Phinehas.” 

With  a  gesture  Elkanah  dismissed  the  serv¬ 
ant,  then  resumed  his  walk  on  the  veranda,  at 
the  same  time  muttering  angrily:  “Perhaps 
Phinehas!  No,  he  won’t  come.  I  have  seen 
him  talking  with  Nicodemus  and  Joseph,  who, 
at  heart,  are  believers  in  the  Nazarene.  I 
don’t  understand  how  he  can  get  hold  of  men 
like  Nicodemus  and  Joseph,  and  now  Phinehas. 
He  preaches  the  strangest  things  that  were 
ever  heard.  He  tells  the  people  not  to  lay  up 
treasures  on  earth,  to  love  their  enemies,  to 
take  no  thought  for  the  morrow,  to  pray  where 
men  can  neither  see  nor  hear  them,  and  has 
declared  that  those  who  follow  him  are  the 
salt  of  the  earth  and  the  light  of  the  world. 
In  the  most  daring  way  he  has  spoken  of  the 
Pharisees,  said  plainly  that  they  were  blind 
leaders  of  the  blind,  and  that  their  traditions 
had  no  value  in  the  sight  of  God.  Such  teach¬ 
ing  is  dangerous.  It  is  destructive,  it  is  con¬ 
trary  to  the  law  and  the  prophets  and  unless 
something  is  done,  and  that  speedily,  he  will 
bring  ruin  upon  the  nation.” 

By  this  time  Elkanah  was  in  a  real  passion, 
and  speaking  so  loudly  that  the  servants  could 
have  heard  him  if  they  had  cared  to  listen. 


136 


THE  MASTER 


But  they  had  heard  him  speak  after  this 
fashion  many  times.  And  if  he  had  only 
known  it,  he  would  not  have  expressed  him¬ 
self  so  freely,  for  the  more  he  raged  and  stormed 
against  the  Master,  the  more  eager  the  serv¬ 
ants  were  to  hear  him,  with  the  result  that 
nearly  all  of  them  were  secret  disciples. 

Not  long  after  sundown,  Ephraim,  Hilkiah, 
and  Bezaleel,  all  clad  in  the  long  robes  of  the 
Pharisee,  appeared  at  the  house  of  Elkanah, 
and  after  the  usual  ceremonious  greetings  sat 
down  on  the  heavy  rug  with  which  one  end 
of  the  veranda  was  covered. 

“No,  Phinehas  wouldn’t  come,  nor  did  he  go 
with  us  to  question  the  Nazarene,”  Ephraim 
said,  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  of  Elkanah. 
“Moreover,  he  told  me  plainly  that  our  seek¬ 
ing  to  entangle  him  and  trying  to  confuse  him 
would  only  result  in  harm,  and  I  am  afraid  he 
is  right,  for  certainly  no  good  came  of  our 
visit  to  the  Nazarene  in  Judaea  beyond  Jordan.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  said  Elkanah,  his 
eyes  flashing  with  unwonted  fire,  his  voice 
trembling  in  anger. 

“Well,  we  put  the  questions  to  him  as  we 
had  arranged  them  here,  and  were  sure  that 
he  could  not  make  reply  without  losing  favor 
with  the  people.  You,  Elkanah,  suggested 
those  questions  and  we  all  helped  to  frame 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


137 


them  so  as  to  leave  no  loophole  for  escape. 
But  ask  Hilkiah  or  Bezaleel.  They  were  both 
there;”  and  from  Ephraim’s  voice  it  was  evi¬ 
dent  that  he  was  anything  but  satisfied  with 
his  share  in  the  interview. 

It  was  plain,  too,  from  the  silence  which 
followed  that  neither  Hilkiah  nor  Bezaleel  was 
eager  to  tell  just  what  had  taken  place,  for 
Elkanah  looked  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other. 

Finally,  Hilkiah  said:  “We  asked  him,  Ts  it 
lawful  for  a  man  to  put  away  his  wife  for 
every  cause.f^’  hoping  that  he  would  say  either 
‘yes’  or  ‘no.’  If  he  said  ‘yes,’  he  would  be 
denying  his  own  teaching,  which  we  had  wit¬ 
nesses  there  to  prove;  if  he  said  ‘no,’  he  would 
be  going  contrary  to  the  law  of  Moses  and  that 
the  people  would  not  accept.” 

“And  then?”  questioned  Elkanah,  with  im¬ 
patience  very  manifest. 

“He  didn’t  answer  as  we  had  planned.  He 
went  straight  to  the  books  of  the  law,  told  us 
what  was  said  in  the  beginning,  gave  to  the 
people  in  our  hearing  the  plain  words  of  Moses 
regarding  this  matter,  and  when  he  had  fin¬ 
ished  speaking,  there  was  nothing  more  that 
could  be  said.” 

“Nothing,”  emphasized  Bezaleel;  “never  man 
spake  like  this  man,  and  he  spoke  as  one  hav¬ 
ing  authority.  I  mean  to  hear  him  again.” 


138 


THE  MASTER 


“The  next  thing,  I  suppose,  you  will  be  one 
of  his  disciples” — a  look  on  Bezaleel’s  face 
made  Elkanah  pause  and  leave  unsaid  the 
angry,  bitter  words  he  would  fain  have  spoken. 

As  Pharisees  they  parted  in  the  usual  form, 
wishing  each  other  every  possible  blessing, 
though  Elkanah  could  barely  hide  his  raging 
sense  of  disappointment  at  their  failure  to 
entrap  the  Nazarene. 

If  these  men — Ephraim,  Hilkiah,  and  Beza- 
leel — had  remained  some  time  longer  in  Judaea, 
and  had  not  hurried  away,  mortified  and 
ashamed,  they  would  have  had  other  things 
to  tell  Elkanah  even  more  surprising. 

“Why  is  it,”  Peter  asked,  as  he  watched  the 
baffled  questioners  depart,  looking  after  them 
with  a  puzzled  expression,  and  by  no  means 
friendly,  “that  so  many  of  the  Pharisees  try  in 
every  way  to  interfere  with  the  Master’s  work, 
and  actually  seem  to  hate  him?  Ever  since  he 
began  his  ministry  they  have  waylaid  him, 
never  losing  an  opportunity  to  create  doubt  in 
the  minds  of  the  people.  One  would  think 
that  men  who  profess  to  be  so  religious  would 
favor  the  Master’s  teaching  and  welcome  him 
as  a  prophet  sent  of  God.” 

Thomas,  to  whom  Peter  was  speaking,  merely 
smiled  as  he  looked  at  Peter’s  indignant  face. 
But  there  was  something  suggestive  in  that 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


139 


smile.  It  meant  more  than  a  movement  of  the 
lips,  or  a  trick  of  the  eyes.  John  caught  that 
smile  and  understood  it.  Then  he  explained: 

“These  men,  Peter,  only  profess  to  be  reli¬ 
gious.  They  are  not  sincere.  The  Master  calls 
them  whited  sepulchers.  He  knows  them. 
They  love  to  stand  on  the  street  corners  and 
appear  to  pray,  but  they  are  not  praying — it 
is  all  a  pretense.  You  remember  Mordecai, 
who,  when  he  dropped  a  shekel  into  the  box 
at  the  Temple  gate,  stood  there  until  the  Le- 
vite  sounded  the  trumpet  so  loudly  that  peo¬ 
ple  heard  it  in  every  part  of  the  courtyard. 
And  you  remember  the  widow,  who  dropped 
in  the  two  mites,  and  what  the  Master  said 
about  her.” 

Again  Thomas  smiled,  this  time  more  pleas¬ 
antly,  as  if  he  enjoyed  what  John  had  said. 
But  Peter  was  not  quite  satisfied. 

“All  you  have  said  is  true,”  he  responded, 
looking  at  John,  “but  that  doesn’t  explain  the 
hate,  the  malice,  the  bitter  hostility  on  the 
part  of  these  men,  who  claim  to  be  masters  in 
Israel.” 

‘‘You  don’t  know,”  said  Thomas,  speaking 
slowly,  carefully,  and  weighing  each  word — a 
habit  of  his — “that  the  most  cruel  men  are 
those  who  claim  to  be  religious  but  are  not  so 
at  heart.  The  Master  classes  them  below  the 


140 


THE  MASTER 


thieving  publicans,  below  the  vilest  sinner  of 
the  streets,  and  has  said  that  even  these,  de¬ 
graded  as  they  are,  shall  go  into  the  kingdom 
of  God  before  the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  who 
are  only  lying  hypocrites.” 

The  reference  of  Thomas  to  the  publicans 
brought  Matthew  into  the  discussion. 

^T  never  can  forget  that  hour  when  the  Mas¬ 
ter  stood  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  where  I  was 
bartering  my  soul,  selling  my  birthright,  and 
the  associate  of  men  I  despised,  and  he  asked 
me  to  be  a  disciple  and  follow  him.  I  could 
not  help  loving  him  then,  but  how  much  more 
do  I  love  him  now!  He  is  so  truthful,  so  sin¬ 
cere,  so  incapable  of  anything  unworthy;  his 
manhood  is  so  superb,  his  heart  so  pure,  his 
life  so  beautiful,  that  to  even  think  of  him 
thrills  my  very  soul.”  Matthew  rarely  allowed 
his  feelings  to  get  beyond  control;  at  times, 
however,  they  would  not  be  restrained;  so 
tears  glistened  in  his  eyes  and  his  voice  trem¬ 
bled  as  he  spoke. 

Not  far  from  where  the  disciples  were  dis¬ 
cussing  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  was  a  house 
so  pretentious  and  stately  as  denoted  great 
wealth  on  the  part  of  the  owner.  And  such 
was  the  case,  for  Simeon,  the  son  of  Jason,  who 
dwelt  there,  was  regarded  as  the  richest  man 
in  all  that  region.  He  was  a  young  man,  and 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


141 


at  an  early  age  inherited  a  large  estate,  both 
of  his  parents  dying  when  he  was  a  mere  boy. 
He  grew  up,  therefore,  under  conditions  which 
accustomed  him  to  a  life  of  luxury.  Hence  he 
could  not  imagine  himself  working  as  a  laborer 
in  the  field,  or  toiling  as  a  fisherman  on  the 
lake;  not  that  he  was  proud  or  vain  of  his  pos¬ 
sessions,  but  his  surroundings  and  tempera¬ 
ment  unfitted  him  for  drudgery  in  any  form. 
Unlike  most  young  men  of  his  day,  he  was 
thoughtful,  took  life  seriously,  carefully  hus¬ 
banded  his  wealth,  indulged  in  no  hurtful 
pleasures,  and  his  general  conduct  was  such  as 
to  secure  unstinted  praise.  More  than  one 
father  had  called  his  son’s  attention  to  him  as 
a  model  and  example;  and  more  than  one 
mother  had  spoken  of  him  to  her  daughters  in 
terms  of  genuine  admiration.  He  looked  with 
marked  disfavor  upon  the  vices  so  common  to 
young  men  and  held  in  abhorrence  any  habit 
that  would  violate  the  laws  of  purity  and 
honor.  But  he  was  not  as  contented  as  might 
be  expected,  for  one  so  highly  favored,  though 
few  were  aware  of  his  secret  unrest.  There 
was  one  man,  however,  to  whom  he  opened 
his  heart,  Eben  Ezer,  a  near  relative  of  Nico- 
demus,  who  frequently  visited  him,  sometimes 
staying  overnight.  To  Eben  Ezer  Nicodemus 
had  spoken  of  his  strange  conversation  with 


142 


THE  MASTER 


the  Master  when  late  one  evening  he  went  to 
see  him;  he,  in  turn,  told  this  to  Simeon,  who 
listened  eagerly  and  was  deeply  impressed. 

‘T  cannot  believe,”  he  said,  “in  the  teachings 
of  the  Sadducees.  To  them  there  is  neither 
angel  nor  spirit,  no  resurrection  from  the  dead, 
no  future  life,  that  we  may  do  as  we  please  and 
are  responsible  to  no  one  but  ourselves.” 

“No  man  can  accept  any  such  teaching 
unless  he  wants  to  live  as  a  Sadducee,”  Eben 
Ezer  replied;  “such  men  are  coarse,  vulgar, 
brutal,  drunken,  and  when  rich  and  powerful, 
as  most  of  them  are,  they  are  more  merciless 
and  cruel  than  even  the  Romans.  We  have 
been  speaking  of  Him,  who  is  called  the  Master; 
let  me  say  that  if  ever  evil  befalls  him  it  will 
be  through  the  Sadducees,  for  he  talks  of  a 
future  life,  judgment  at  the  bar  of  God,  an 
eternal  separation  of  the  evil  and  the  good, 
all  of  which  the  Sadducee  utterly  rejects  and 
is  ready  to  crucify  the  man  who  will  teach 
such  things.  And,  Simeon,  you  may  not  know 
it,  but  Caiaphas,  the  present  high  priest,  is  a 
Sadducee.  But  why  don’t  you  go  and  see 
the  Master.^  Ask  him  how  to  attain  eternal 
life.  Evidently,  he  knows,  and,  from  what 
Nicodemus  says,  he  will  receive  you  gladly.” 

With  the  disciples  grouped  around  him,  all 
so  near  that  they  could  easily  hear  him  speak. 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


143 


and  while  he  was  explaining  to  them  a  parable 
he  had  recently  given,  a  young  man,  seemingly 
in  much  haste,  broke  upon  the  little  gathering, 
and  reverently  kneeling,  said,  “Good  Master, 
what  good  thing  shall  I  do  that  I  may  have 
eternal  life?” 

The  disciples  were  amazed.  No  such  ques¬ 
tion  had  ever  before  been  put  to  the  Master. 
Those  who  came  usually  asked  hini  to  do  some¬ 
thing  for  them.  They  were  sick,  or  blind,  or 
deaf,  and  needed  healing,  or  help  in  some  form. 
And  they  were  mostly  very  poor;  several  of 
them  had  been  beggars  by  the  wayside.  This 
young  man  was  different  in  every  way.  He 
was  richly  clothed.  He  had  no  bodily ^infirmity, 
nor  was  he  appealing  for  any  of  his  friends. 
Then,  too,  there  was  marked  respect  with  which 
he  approached  the  Master,  openly  kneeling 
before  him,  and  giving  him  a  title  rarely  be¬ 
stowed  upon  any  save  those  of  eminent  worth. 
They  were,  indeed,  a  surprised  company,  and 
in  the  heart  of  each  one  there  was  an  imme¬ 
diate  question  as  to  how  the  Master  would 
answer  the  young  man.  Taking  him  by  the 
hand  and  gently  raising  him  to  his  feet,  so 
that  they  might  speak  face  to  face,  the  Master 
said,  “Why  callest  thou  me  good?  There  is 
none  good,  but  one;  that  is,  God.” 

To  this  Simeon — for  it  was  he — made  no 


144. 


THE  MASTER 


reply.  There  was  no  reply  that  he  could  make. 
All  that  he  knew  of  the  Master  was  what  he 
had  heard  from  others.  The  question,  there¬ 
fore,  embarrassed  him.  This  the  Master  saw, 
so  he  immediately  added,  “But  if  thou  wilt 
enter  into  life,  keep  the  commandments.” 

Simeon  felt  relieved.  He  could  answer  now. 
He  was  familiar  with  the  commandments.  He 
had  known  them  all  his  life.  So  the  way  into 
the  eternal  life  he  so  much  desired  was  not  so 
difficult  as  he  had  feared.  It  was,  therefore, 
with  easy  confidence  he  asked,  “Which  of  the 
commandments  am  I  to  keep.^” 

The  Master  answered,  speaking  solemnly, 
his  eyes  following  every  movement  and  ex¬ 
pression  of  Simeon. 

“Thou  shalt  do  no  murder.  Thou  shalt  not 
commit  adultery.  Thou  shalt  not  steal.  Thou 
shalt  not  bear  false  witness.  Honour  thy  father 
and  thy  mother,  and  thou  shalt  love  thy  neigh¬ 
bour  as  thyself.” 

Simeon’s  face  glowed  with  pleasure.  To  hear 
the  Master  speak  in  this  fashion  was  a  delight 
to  him.  It  was  all  so  easy  and  simple.  There 
was  no  need  for  him  to  change  his  life  in  any 
way.  He  had  merely  to  do  as  he  had  been 
doing,  and  at  the  end  enter  into  eternal  life. 
This,  he  knew,  would  be  a  grateful  surprise  to 
Eben  Ezer,  for  he  thought  that  eternal  life 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


145 


meant  fasting,  sacrifice,  self-denial,  ceaseless 
prayer,  and  could  only  be  attained  by  those 
willing  to  endure  and  suffer  both  bodily  and 
spiritual  pain. 

It  was  with  no  small  feeling  of  satisfaction 
he  looked  the  Master  frankly  in  the  face,  and 
he  answered,  ‘‘All  these  have  I  kept  from  my 
youth  up.” 

Now,  that  was  a  great  thing  to  say  and  to 
say  it  in  all  truth.  And  if  Simeon  had  been 
wise,  he  would  have  stopped  there,  said  no 
more,  for  he  saw  that  his  words  had  impressed 
the  Master;  but  he  was  now  so  sure  of  him¬ 
self,  so  certain  of  his  fitness  for  eternal  life, 
that  he  asked,  with  a  goodly  measure  of  com¬ 
placency,  “What  lack  I  yet?” 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  confidence 
in  Simeon’s  mind.  It  was  manifest  on  his 
face,  in  his  shining  eyes,  in  his  voice,  in  his 
almost  proud  bearing,  as  he  stood  before  the 
Master.  By  this  time  the  disciples  had  so 
grouped  themselves  as  to  form  a  sort  of  circle, 
which  enabled  them  to  see  both  Simeon  and  the 
Master,  and  they  would  look  first  at  one,  then 
at  the  other,  listening  eagerly  for  the  Master’s 
reply.  To  them  everything  depended  on  the 
answer  to  Simeon’s  question.  If  he  were  re¬ 
ceived  on  the  terms  proposed — keeping  the 
commandments — the  Master  then  would  be 


146 


THE  MASTER 


the  Messianic  King,  for  whose  coming  Israel 
had  waited  so  long:  his  kingdom  would  be 
established  in  Jerusalem,  giving  them  places  of 
honor  and  authority;  their  years  of  faithful 
service  as  disciples  would  be  abundantly  re¬ 
warded,  all  opposition  die  away,  and  their  be¬ 
loved  Master  would  restore  to  the  nation  its 
former  greatness  and  power. 

With  a  tenderness  of  which  he  only  was 
capable,  and  at  the  same  moment  placing  his 
hand  on  Simeon’s  shoulder  as  a  token  of  affec¬ 
tion,  the  Master  said: 

‘‘One  thing  thou  lackest:  go  thy  way,  sell 
whatsoever  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor, 
and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven;  and 
come,  take  up  the  cross  and  follow  me.” 

Simeon  fell  back,  as  if  struck  by  an  unseen 
hand.  He  seemed  as  one  in  a  daze.  He  looked 
around  him  bewildered,  amazed,  wondering  if 
he  had  heard  aright.  But  there  stood  the 
Master,  calm,  patient,  tender,  waiting  for  him 
to  speak.  So  those  fearful  words  had  really 
been  spoken.  He  was  not  in  a  dream.  He 
had  not  been  deceived.  And  there  were  the 
disciples,  the  same  men  he  had  regarded  so 
complacently  a  few  moments  before.  Yes,  the 
Voice  had  said:  “One  thing  thou  lackest.  Sell 
whatsoever  thou  hast.  Follow  me.”  Sell  the 
vineyards,  with  their  unnumbered  vines,  laden 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


14T 


with  rich,  purpling  grapes,  which  brought  the 
highest  price  in  the  city  markets;  sell  the  broad 
fields  stretching  down  to  the  lakeside,  and 
reaching  back  to  the  hills,  in  which  his  hus¬ 
bandmen  gathered  such  harvests  that  he  was 
troubled  at  times  where  to  bestow  his  goods; 
sell  his  properties  in  Capernaum  and  Jerusa¬ 
lem,  holdings  he  had  received  under  his  father’s 
covenant  and  yielding  a  splendid  revenue;  sell 
the  house  in  which  he  now  lived,  his  home 
from  childhood,  and  all  the  dearer  because  it 
held  the  memory  of  his  mother’s  lullaby;  sell 
all  that  he  possessed  and  become  as  the  men 
standing  around  him. 

He  looked  at  Peter,  then  at  Andrew,  both 
wearing  the  coarse  smock  of  the  fisherman; 
others  he  saw  were  clad  in  the  same  garb. 
They  all  seemed  inured  to  toil  and  hardship; 
even  the  hands  of  the  Master  he  noticed  bore 
the  marks  of  his  trade,  for  he  worked  as  a 
carpenter.  To  join  such  a  company  as  this, 
lay  aside  his  purple  and  fine  linen,  surrender 
all  of  his  worldly  possessions,  and  walk,  it  may 
be,  in  company  with  Judas,  at  whose  side  hung 
the  heavy,  canvas  bag  for  the  collection  and 
distribution  of  alms;  to  resign  his  office  as  a 
ruler,  a  position  of  honor  and  responsibility, 
one  eagerly  coveted  and  tenaciously  held  be¬ 
cause  of  the  respect  with  which  it  was  regarded, 


148 


THE  MASTER 


and  instead  of  rendering  dignified  service  in  the 
synagogue,  wander  about  the  country  with  a 
band  of  pilgrims,  one  time  received  gladly  by 
the  people,  another  time  threatened  with 
stones.  No!  It  was  impossible.  To  even 
think  of  it  was  beyond  question.  Such  a  de¬ 
mand  was  out  of  all  reason.  He  would  not, 
could  not  accept  it. 

Yet  to  refuse  meant  to  forego  all  hope  of 
eternal  life,  to  quench  forever  the  longings  of 
his  deepest  heart,  to  tear  out  all  the  desires 
which  had  been  rooted  in  his  inmost  being,  to 
abandon  everything  that  signified  the  spiritual 
and  the  unseen,  and  to  become  an  open  be¬ 
liever  in  the  teachings  of  the  Sadducees,  teach¬ 
ings  he  professed  to  abhor  and  often  vehe¬ 
mently  denounced. 

Thoughts  with  a  speed  quicker  than  lightning 
crossed  Simeon’s  mind.  “Sell  whatsoever  thou 
hast”  flashed  before  him.  Then — “One  thing 
thou  lackest.  Thou  shalt  have  treasure 
in  heaven.  Take  up  the  cross  and  follow 
me.” 

But  at  the  same  moment  he  could  see  his 
vineyards  purpling  in  the  sun,  his  fields  whiten¬ 
ing  into  harvest,  his  tenants  paying  their  ren¬ 
tals  to  his  steward,  his  home  only  a  few  miles 
distant  with  servants  eager  to  do  his  bidding; 
and  as  he  saw  these  things  he  turned  his  back 


THE  YOUNG  RULER 


149 


on  the  Master  and  with  bowed  head  and  sad 
heart  walked  slowly  away. 

But  the  Master’s  heart  was  infinitely  more 
sad  than  that  of  Simeon.  For  he  dearly  loved 
him.  There  was  so  much  in  him  he  admired; 
his  manhood  was  so  clean,  so  upright,  so 
worthy  as  to  win  the  Master’s  genuine  regard. 
His  face,  therefore,  was  very  sorrowful,  and 
there  was  a  look  of  inexpressible  tenderness  in 
his  eyes  as  he  watched  Simeon  go  down  the 
road,  nor  did  he  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the 
slowly  moving  figure  until  it  passed  from  view. 

A  deep,  solemn  silence  for  a  time  rested  on 
that  company,  broken  at  length  by  Peter,  who 
spoke  softly  to  John. 

“You  remember  what  the  Master  said  only 
a  few  days  since — Tor  what  is  a  man  profited 
if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  soul.^  Or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  ex¬ 
change  for  his  soul.?’  ” 

Then  they  both  looked  down  the  road,  far 
as  their  eyes  could  reach,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  young  ruler.  Simeon,  son  of  Jason, 
preferred  treasure  on  earth  to  treasure  in 
heaven. 


THE  JVIASTER  BETRAYED 


“  A  NDREW,  I  tell  you  he  is  a  thief.  That 
/“%  I  know  is  a  hard  thing  to  say,  but  I 
have  been  watching  him  for  some  time 
and  can  prove  that  he  takes  money  and  hides 
it  away.’’  John  spoke  bluntly  and  angrily. 

“But,  John,  perhaps  the  money  you  saw  him 
take  was  used  as  the  Master  intended.  Things 
have  to  be  bought  and  paid  for.  The  Master 
is  very  careful  in  such  matters.  Besides,  he  is 
always  giving  to  the  poor,  so  secretly,  too, 
that  only  the  one  who  receives  knows  anything 
of  it.  He  carries  out  his  own  rule,  ‘Let  not  thy 
left  hand  know  what  thy  right  hand  doeth.’  ” 
Andrew  was  not  so  hasty  or  impetuous  of 
speech  as  John.  John  had  a  seraphic  face,  but 
not  a  seraphic  heart,  and  at  times  allowed  his 
indignation  to  get  beyond  control.  For  a  mo¬ 
ment  he  was  silent,  then  with  even  greater 
earnestness  said: 

“You  remember  that  night  when  we  were  in 
a  storm  on  the  lake,  and  the  Master  came  to 
us  walking  on  the  sea;  though  it  was  not  early 
dawn  I  could  plainly  see  the  face  of  Judas  and 
it  fairly  startled  me.  There  was  a  strange 
glitter  in  his  eyes;  his  expression  was  most 

150 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


151 


peculiar;  lie  looked  as  though  in  a  dream,  and 
his  smile  of  welcome  to  the  Master  seemed  to 
convey  some  hidden  design.  Not  long  after 
that,  when  the  Master  was  speaking  to  us 
privately,  he  said,  ‘Have  I  not  chosen  you 
twelve,  and  one  of  you  is  a  devil.^’  For  some 
reason,  why  I  don’t  know,  I  glanced  at  Judas, 
and  he  had  the  same  expression  as  that  night 
on  the  lake.  I  had  a  feeling  that  he  knew  the 
Master  was  referring  to  him.  Ever  since  I 
have  both  feared  and  suspected  him.” 

“Feared!  In  what  way,  John,  could  Judas 
harm  you.?” 

“O,  not  for  myself  have  I  been  afraid,  but 
that  in  some  way  he  might  hurt  the  Master. 
Some  time  ago,  soon  after  that  day  in  the 
desert,  when  you  called  the  Master’s  atten¬ 
tion  to  the  boy  who  had  five  loaves  and  two 
fishes,  from  which  the  multitude  was  fed;  and 
the  people  were  determined  to  make  the  Mas¬ 
ter  a  king,  which  he  would  not  allow,  but 
went  alone  to  a  mountain;  from  that  day  I 
noted  a  change  in  Judas.” 

“But  why  should  that  affect  Judas.?  It 
didn’t  affect  me  only  to  make  me  love  and 
admire  the  Master  all  the  more;  for  had  he 
yielded  to  the  people’s  wish,  there  would  have 
been  rebellion  and  bloodshed.” 

“Nevertheless,  Andrew,  I  believe  Judas  was 


152 


THE  MASTER 


bitterly  disappointed  that  day.  If  the  Master 
had  accepted  the  kingship,  Judas  was  certain 
he  would  have  had  charge  of  the  treasury,  the 
same  as  he  has  now,  and  think  of  what  that 
would  mean  to  him.” 

“Be  careful,  John.  Judge  not,  that  ye  be 
not  judged.  Remember  the  parable  of  the 
mote  and  the  beam.” 

Andrew’s  frank,  pleasant  smile  removed  any 
sting  or  hurt  from  his  words. 

“I  surely  don’t  mean  to  be  unjust  to  him, 
but  when  Mary  anointed  the  Master’s  feet 
with  that  costly  spikenard — such  a  gracious, 
beautiful  thing  for  her  to  do — all  that  Judas 
could  say  was,  ‘Why  was  not  this  ointment 
sold  for  three  hundred  pence  and  given  to  the 
poor.^’  Now,  that  money  would  not  all  have 
been  given  to  the  poor.  Judas  at  no  time  has 
given  much  thought  to  the  poor.  I  have 
watched  him  closely,  and  I  say  now  just  what 
I  said  at  first — Judas  is  a  thief.  You  will  find 
it  out  sooner  or  later.” 

Andrew  made  no  reply.  Knowing  John  as 
he  did,  through  years  of  close  fellowship,  he 
felt  that  further  argument  or  protest  would  be 
valueless. 

That  same  night  in  the  palace  of  the  high 
priest,  an  angry,  bitter  council  was  being  held. 
Only  a  few  were  bidden  to  this  council,  for  the 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


153 


intent  was  to  hold  its  proceedings  in  the  strict¬ 
est  secrecy. 

Caiaphas,  a  haughty,  unbending,  unscru¬ 
pulous  man,  was  then  high  priest;  and  being  an 
astute  diplomatist,  a  crafty  manager  of  men, 
skilled  in  speech,  able  to  dominate  by  the  force 
of  his  imperious  will,  his  authority,  in  many 
ways,  was  greater  than  that  of  Pilate,  the 
governor.  From  the  first  he  saw  in  the  Mas¬ 
ter  a  dangerous  rival.  Through  his  spies  he 
kept  well  informed  of  every  public  act  of  the 
young  Nazarene.  He  had  a  hope,  however, 
that  in  time  the  popular  interest  would  die 
away;  but  was  bitterly  disappointed  to  learn 
that  the  crowds  were  even  greater  than  ever, 
and  that  people  were  beginning  to  wonder  if 
the  long-expected  Messiah  had  not  really  come. 
If  so,  his  reign  was  over.  He  would  be  driven 
from  the  palace  in  which  he  had  exercised, 
unsparingly,  the  authority  and  power  of  the 
high  priest.  A  Messiah  would  mean  that 
there  was  an  unseen  world,  a  spiritual  realm, 
a  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  in  none  of 
these  things  did  he  believe,  for  he  was  a  Sad- 
ducee.  He  would,  therefore,  not  merely  be 
deposed  from  his  high  office,  with  all  of  its 
honors  and  emoluments,  but  compelled  to  ac¬ 
cept  a  faith  which  he  had  always  laughed  to 
scorn.  Holding  his  appointment  from  the 


154 


THE  MASTER 


Roman  government,  his  removal  would  give 
the  people  unbounded  delight,  and  his  de¬ 
parture  from  the  city  be  a  day  of  general  re¬ 
joicing.  So  at  all  hazards  the  Nazarene  must 
be  removed.  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
with  Caiaphas.  The  others  might  talk  of  the 
laws  of  Moses  and  make  complaint  regarding 
sacred  traditions,  but  these  things  did  not  in¬ 
terest  him.  His  own  thought  was  himself,  and 
when  he  heard  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus  from 
the  dead,  with  rare  craft  and  subtility  he 
urged  the  death  of  Jesus.  He  did  not  intend 
his  suggestion  to  have  immediate  effect.  He 
was  too  wise  for  that.  But  he  meant  that  the 
idea  would  be  as  seed  in  the  hearts  of  those 
to  whom  he  spoke.  Now  the  time  had  come. 
Therefore  this  secret  council. 

‘T  am  waiting  for  Hazael,”  Caiaphas  said, 
speaking  in  the  smooth,  silky  voice  he  always 
used  when  he  had  some  special  purpose  in 
mind.  ‘'Gaddiel  may  come  in  later.  He  said 
it  might  be  the  end  of  the  second  watch,  pos¬ 
sibly  the  beginning  of  the  third,  before  he 
could  get  here.” 

Just  then  Hazael,  one  of  the  chief  priests, 
entered.  He  was  a  favorite  of  Caiaphas,  be¬ 
cause  he  was  both  a  willing  tool  and  a  ready 
servant. 

“Yes,”  he  answered  Baruch,  “I  have  seen 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


155 


Judas  several  times.  At  our  first  meeting  I 
pretended  to  be  a  sort  of  secret  disciple,  spoke 
kindly  of  the  Nazarene,  expressed  sorrow  at 
the  opposition  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees;  to 
all  of  which  he  listened  with  apparent  indif¬ 
ference.  The  next  time  I  suggested  that  Jesus 
had  thrown  away  a  big  chance  when  he  would 
not  let  the  people  make  him  a  king,  for  he 
then  could  have  rewarded  the  disciples  who 
had  served  him  so  faithfully.  Judas  was  not 
indifferent  to  that  suggestion,  I  can  tell  you. 
His  eyes  blazed  with  passion  when  I  said  that, 
instead  of  carrying  a  coarse,  canvas  bag  re¬ 
ceiving  aims,  he  might  have  been  treasurer  of 
the  new  kingdom.” 

Hazael  had  an  attentive  audience,  apprecia¬ 
tive,  too,  for  he  was  rewarded  with  smiles  and 
nods  of  approval;  so  he  went  on: 

‘T  finally  got  so  far  with  Judas  as  to  say 
that  the  Nazarene  was  a  dreamer,  a  fanatic,  a 
disturber  of  the  people  and  the  only  reason 
why  the  authorities  had  not  laid  hands  on 
him  was  because  he  was  always  in  a  crowd 
or  attended  by  his  disciples;  but  if  they  could 
only  find  him  alone,  he  would  surely  be  brought 
before  the  governor  or  the  high  priest.  I  then 
said  something  about  money,  to  which  he  lis¬ 
tened  eagerly.  After  consulting  with  Caiaphas, 
I  spoke  to  Gaddiel,  told  him  how  far  I  had 


156 


THE  MASTER 


gone  in  the  matter,  and  it  wouldn’t  surprise  me 
if  Gaddiel  brought  Judas  here  before  this  coun¬ 
cil  broke  up.” 

Hazael  was  not  quite  as  unctuous  in  his 
speech  as  Caiaphas,  but  his  manner  was  very 
pleasing;  it  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that 
Judas  had  given  heed  to  his  suggestions. 

It  was  close  upon  the  end  of  the  second 
watch  when  Gaddiel  entered  the  council  cham¬ 
ber;  nor  was  he  alone,  for,  just  as  Hazael  pre¬ 
dicted,  Judas  was  with  him.  It  was  with  a 
dangerous  smile  Caiaphas  welcomed  Judas  and 
motioned  him  to  a  seat  not  far  from  his  own. 
His  purpose  was  to  study  him  closely,  to  watch 
the  expression  of  his  face,  to  get  at  the  real 
motives  in  his  heart,  and  to  make  sure  that 
he  was  not  a  spy,  who  had  cunningly  deceived 
the  men  who  had  sought  to  entrap  him.  Caia¬ 
phas  was  playing  what  he  well  knew  to  be  a 
dangerous  game.  A  mistake  would  be  fatal. 
The  Nazar ene  was  never  more  popular  than  at 
that  hour.  His  entry  into  Jerusalem  was  an 
outburst  of  affection.  No  king  or  governor 
ever  had  such  a  reception.  Then,  besides 
winning  favor  with  the  multitude,  such  men 
as  Nicodemus  and  Joseph  of  Arimathsea,  both 
rich  and  influential,  had  virtually  become  his 
disciples.  It  was  an  absolute  necessity  that 
the  Galilsean  be  put  out  of  the  way  at  once. 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


157 


Every  day  made  him  more  dangerous.  So  he 
bent  his  keen,  searching  eyes  upon  Judas,  as 
though  he  would  read  his  inmost  soul.  He 
saw  a  man  so  heavily  bearded  as  to  almost 
hide  his  face,  though  when  he  spoke  a  weak, 
yet  passionate  mouth  was  revealed;  he  saw 
under  black,  beetling  brows  eyes  that  glared  as 
those  of  a  wild  beast  with  a  thirst  for  blood; 
he  saw,  as  Judas  turned  his  head  from  one  to 
another,  expressions  so  malign,  so  revengeful, 
as  to  convince  him  that  he  was  no  spy,  but  had 
come  with  Gaddiel  for  the  purpose  of  betray¬ 
ing  his  Master. 

Then  the  cold-blooded,  implacable  Caiaphas, 
who  seemed  to  know  every  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  Master  and  his  disciples,  by  artful, 
cunning,  suggestive  questioning,  aroused  Judas 
to  even  deeper  anger,  in  showing  how  he  had 
been  slighted;  how  Peter,  John,  and  James  had 
been  chosen  as  favorites,  and  that  he,  though 
not  a  Galilaean,  superior,  therefore,  to  them 
all,  was  treated  with  contempt.  No  wonder 
Caiaphas  held  the  office  of  high  priest  for  so 
many  years  or  was  regarded  with  such  fear  by 
the  people,  for  even  Judas,  from  whom  all 
honor  had  departed,  and  in  whose  heart  black 
hatred  was  supreme,  saw  in  Caiaphas  one  even 
more  merciless  than  himself. 

Then  began  the  bargaining.  At  first  Judas 


158 


THE  MASTER 


demanded  a  large  sum  of  money,  but  now, 
fully  aware  that  hatred,  revenge,  disappoint¬ 
ment,  more  than  anything  else,  had  brought 
him  there,  they  argued  and  bartered,  finally 
agreeing  upon  thirty  pieces  of  silver. 

As  Judas  left  the  council  chamber  Caiaphas 
looked  after  him — a  look  so  expressive  of 
cruelty,  of  cunning,  of  contempt,  that  had 
Judas  seen  it,  he  might  have  repented  of  his 
infamous  compact. 

In  a  large  upper  room  not  far  from  where 
this  council  was  held  the  Master  had  met  with 
his  disciples  to  keep  the  Passover.  During  the 
day,  as  a  preparation  for  the  feast,  Judas, 
having  charge  of  all  such  matters,  had  bought 
the  Paschal  lamb  and  made  other  necessary 
arrangements.  The  Master  noted  his  coming 
in  and  greeting  him  with  his  usual  courtesy, 
asked  as  to  his  arrangements  for  the  Paschal 
supper,  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
he  could  never  forget. 

Judas  could  glare  into  the  face  of  Caiaphas, 
but  here  he  dare  not  meet  the  eyes  of  the 
Master,  so  he  hurried  to  another  room  with 
an  excuse  regarding  the  supper. 

“Master,”  said  Peter,  “how  is  it  that  we 
have  never  eaten  the  Passover  with  you  be¬ 
fore?  We  have  had  it  in  our  homes  and  with 
each  other,  but  not  with  you.” 


/ 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


159 


“Perhaps  if  you  knew  why  I  am  going  to 
eat  it  with  you  now,  you  would  understand 
why  I  had  not  eaten  it  before.  With  desire  I 
have  desired  to  eat  this  Passover  with  you 
before  I  suffer.” 

“Suffer.^”  said  Judas,  who  had  returned  from 
the  adjoining  room,  speaking  in  a  harsh,  con¬ 
strained  voice. 

“Have  I  not  told  you  that  the  Son  of  man 
must  suffer  many  things  and  be  rejected  of  the 
elders  and  chief  priests  and  be  killed.^”  The 
Master  spoke  with  peculiar  tenderness,  but 
Judas  shuddered  when  the  chief  priests  were 
mentioned. 

It  was  with  the  blessing  of  one  of  the  cups  of 
wine  that  the  Paschal  ceremony  began,  the  cup 
then  being  handed  round  among  the  family  or 
company  assembled.  This  was  followed  by 
the  head  of  the  household  calling  for  a  basin 
of  water,  that  he  might  wash  his  hands  before 
breaking  the  bread.  To  their  amazement,  they 
saw  the  Master  leave  the  table,  go  into  a  room 
adjoining,  then  return  with  the  water  basin  in 
his  hand,  and  a  long  towel  loosely  fastened  at 
his  waist.  What  did  it  mean?  Slaves  usually 
performed  such  service.  It  was  considered  a 
degrading  task,  always  given  to  the  lowest 
menials  in  the  household. 

“What!”  said  Peter,  with  a  look  akin  to 


160 


THE  MASTER 


horror  on  his  face,  wash  my  feet? 

Never.” 

“Then  thou  hast  no  part  with  me.” 

All  at  once  it  began  to  break  on  them  what 
the  Master  meant;  and  as  he  recalled  how  they 
had  striven  with  each  other  for  places  at  the 
table  they  were  ashamed.  When  the  Master 
had  completed  his  significant  service,  one  they 
always  remembered,  he  said,  “Ye  are  not  all 
clean,”  an  ominous,  startling  expression,  caus¬ 
ing  wonder  among  them,  but  full  of  terrible 
significance  to  Judas. 

“Ask  him  what  he  meant,”  Peter  whispered 
to  John.  “Some  burden  is  resting  heavily  on 
his  heart.  He  is  always  so  strong,  so  con¬ 
fident,  so  full  of  cheer,  that  to  see  him  now 
heavy  and  sorrowful  makes  me  anxious.  I 
fear  something  dreadful  is  going  to  take  place. 
Ask  him,  John;  he  may  tell  you.” 

The  evening  was  now  wearing  on.  The  clear 
light  under  which  they  had  begun  the  Paschal 
feast  was  changing  into  dusk  and  already 
shadows  were  falling.  But  no  shadows  could 
hide  the  face  of  the  Master.  It  was  strangely 
vivid.  But  it  looked  strained,  grief-stricken,  as 
though  a  great  sorrow  had  fallen  upon  it. 
There  was,  however,  no  sign  of  weakness;  pos¬ 
sibly  it  had  never  shown  at  any  time  such 
mysterious  strength. 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


161 


From  where  the  Master  sat  he  could  see  all 
the  disciples,  and  his  eyes  would  rest  lovingly 
upon  one,  then  another.  It  may  have  been 
that  he  hardly  spoke  above  a  whisper,  but  he 
said,  so  that  they  all  could  plainly  hear,  ‘‘Verily, 
I  say  unto  you,  that  one  of  you  shall  betray  me.” 

Each  man  looked  at  the  other  horror- 
stricken.  How  could  the  Master  think  that 
any  one  of  them  would  be  guilty  of  such  dis¬ 
honor?  Betray  him!  Impossible.  Then  they 
broke  up  into  little  groups,  wondering  if  there 
really  could  be  a  traitor  among  the  chosen 
twelve.  With  a  keen  sense  of  beautiful  brother¬ 
hood  no  one  attempted  to  accuse  the  other,  but 
asked  the  question  finally,  “Lord,  is  it  I?” 

It  may  have  been  pure  bravado,  or  daring 
effrontery,  perhaps  a  desire  to  know  if  the 
Master  had  heard  of  his  covenant  with  the 
chief  priests,  that  prompted  Judas  to  ask  the 
same  question: 

“Lord,  is  it  I?” 

“Peter,”  said  John,  speaking  under  his 
breath,  afraid  even  to  whisper,  “watch  the 
disciple  to  whom  the  Master  gives  the  sop. 
He  is  the  traitor.  The  Master  has  said  so.” 

With  eyes  filled  with  wonder  and  a  heart 
throbbing  with  both  dread  and  anger,  Peter 
saw  the  Master  take  a  piece  of  bread,  dip  it 
in  the  sauce,  then  give  it  to  Judas. 


162 


THE  MASTER 


At  that  moment  Peter  had  trouble  with  him¬ 
self.  Had  he  dared,  he  would  have  taken 
Judas  by  the  throat,  denounced  him  openly  as 
a  deceiver,  an  impostor,  one  unworthy  of  fel¬ 
lowship  with  them,  and  who  has  only  used  his 
discipleship  as  a  mask  to  hide  his  infamy.  His 
eyes  burned  with  holy  anger.  His  hands  were 
clinched  in  rage.  Words  of  fire  trembled  on 
his  tongue.  But  the  bearing  of  the  Master 
restrained  him.  There  was  something  on  his 
face,  in  his  voice,  against  which  Peter’s  anger 
seemed  trivial,  petty,  unworthy  of  either  the 
place  or  the  hour. 

Then,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  he  saw  the 
Master  speak  softly  to  Judas,  who  imme¬ 
diately  left  the  room. 

After  he  had  gone  the  Master  again  took 
bread,  which  he  blessed  and  broke,  and  with 
the  words,  “Take,  eat;  this  is  my  body,”  gave 
to  the  disciples  who  wondered  at  what  he 
meant  by  this  strange  ceremony.  And  they 
wondered  even  more  when  he  took  one  of  the 
Paschal  cups  in  which  some  wine  remained,  and 
after  blessing  it,  said,  “Drink  ye  all  of  it;  for 
this  is  my  blood  of  the  covenant.” 

What  was  the  purpose  of  this  second  ordi¬ 
nance?  They  had  just  eaten  of  the  Paschal 
lamb  and  drank  of  the  Paschal  wine;  why,  then, 
the  broken  bread  and  the  cup  of  wine?  But 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


163 


no  one  asked  him  anything  concerning  these 
things.  Perhaps  they  remembered  that  only 
an  hour  or  two  before  he  had  said,  “What  I  do 
thou  knowest  not  now;  but  thou  shalt  under¬ 
stand  hereafter.” 

Then  followed  an  evening  of  the  rarest  fel¬ 
lowship.  With  Judas  gone,  the  Master  opened 
his  heart  as  never  before. 

When  he  saw  that  they  had  come  to  realize 
that  he  was  about  to  leave  them  he  said,  “Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled;  ye  believe  in  God, 
believe  also  in  me.” 

A  song  of  praise  brought  this  eventful  gath¬ 
ering  to  an  end,  the  most  momentous  and  sig¬ 
nificant  the  world  has  ever  known. 

“Peter,”  said  the  Master,  “I  am  going  to 
the  Mount  of  Olives.  Tell  James  and  John  to 
come  with  you  to  Gethsemane.  My  soul  is 
exceeding  sorrowful  even  unto  death.  Abide 
ye  here  and  watch  with  me.” 

It  was  such  a  night  as  can  be  found  only  in 
Syria.  The  Paschal  moon  was  almost  in  the 
full,  with  not  a  cloud  to  dim  its  brightness. 
Never  did  the  stars  seem  to  hang  so  low  or 
shine  with  such  a  pure,  strong  light.  The 
olive  trees,  now  in  the  beauty  of  early  summer 
foliage,  were  as  silver,  each  leaf  catching  some¬ 
thing  of  the  radiance  from  the  sky.  Here  and 
there  could  be  seen  the  tents  of  the  pilgrims 


164 


THE  MASTER 


who  had  come  from  afar  that  they  might  keep 
the  Passover.  At  times  a  breath  of  cool  air 
came  down  from  the  hills,  just  enough  to 
quiver  the  moonbeams  and  cause  the  olive 
trees  to  gently  rustle. 

Mindful  of  the  Master’s  wish,  Peter  and  his 
companions  kept  faithful  watch,  and  could  hear 
something  of  his  prayer,  for  he  was  in  great 
agony  of  soul. 

“O  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup 
pass  away  from  me,”  they  heard,  and  wondered 
what  it  meant.  Then  the  voice  died  away  and 
a  deep  silence  fell  upon  them.  They  did  not 
know  that  again  and  again  that  same  mys¬ 
terious  prayer  was  offered  and  with  such 
anguish  that  drops  as  of  blood  gathered  on  the 
brow  of  the  One  who  prayed.  No,  they  were 
asleep.  It  had  been  a  long,  hard,  trying  day, 
and  though  they  struggled  against  it,  sleep 
prevailed.  But  they  were  mortified  and  cov¬ 
ered  with  confusion  to  hear  the  Master  say: 
‘‘Sleep  on  now,  and  take  your  rest;  behold,  the 
hour  is  at  hand  and  the  Son  of  man  is  betrayed 
into  the  hands  of  sinners.  Arise,  let  us  be  go¬ 
ing;  behold,  he  is  at  hand  that  betray eth  me.” 

Leaping  to  their  feet,  for  now  all  sleep  was 
gone,  they  saw  an  excited  crowd  pushing  and 
struggling  toward  Gethsemane.  Part  of  that 
crowd  was  a  band  of  Roman  soldiers  who  were 


THE  MASTER  BETRAYED 


165 


led  by  Judas  to  the  place  where  he  knew  they 
would  find  the  Master. 

With  superb  dignity  the  Master  advanced  to 
meet  them,  saying,  ‘‘Whom  seek  ye?” 

“Jesus  of  Nazareth,”  was  the  reply. 

“I  am  he,”  the  Master  said,  and  in  such 
tone  that  they  fell  back  as  before  a  king. 

The  soldiers  were  perplexed  and  confused. 
They  had  come  prepared  for  resistance  or 
flight.  They  were  armed,  and  had  torches  if 
the  Nazarene  should  try  to  hide  in  the  deep 
shadows  of  Gethsemane.  It  may  be  that  this 
man  was  deceiving  them,  holding  a  parley 
while  the  one  they  sought  was  making  his 
escape.  To  them  it  was  incredible  that  a 
despised  Nazarene  could  speak  with  such  au¬ 
thority  as  this  man  had  spoken,  or  so  cour¬ 
ageously  declare  that  he  was  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
whom  they  sought.  Just  then  Judas  stepped 
forward  and  the  soldiers  remembered  that  he 
had  said,  “Whomsoever  I  shall  kiss,  that  is  he, 
take  him.” 

There  may  have  been  some  shame  left  in  the 
heart  of  this  apostate  disciple,  some  remnant 
of  honor  or  conscience,  but  none  appeared  here, 
for  he  walked  brazenly  up  to  the  Master,  hailed 
him  with  the  old  familiar  title,  then  kissed 
him. 

Through  the  moonlit  garden,  where  an  hour 


166  THE  MASTER 

before  he  had  poured  out  his  soul  before  God, 
the  Master  was  led  a  prisoner.  And  he  was 
alone,  for  in  that  awful  night  his  disciples  for¬ 
sook  him  and  fled.  Down  the  road  the  soldiers 
tramped,  the  clank  of  their  armor  breaking  the 
midnight  silence,  Judas  going  with  them  to  re¬ 
ceive  the  silver  for  which  he  bargained.  His 
work  was  done.  The  betrayal  was  complete. 
With  the  blood  money  clutched  tightly  in  his 
hand,  a  cruel,  hellish  smile  on  his  face,  he  saw 
the  Master  led  between  the  soldiers  into  the 
palace  of  Annas,  there  to  face  enemies  more 
cruel  than  death. 

The  one  gained  the  silver  for  which  he  had 
exchanged  his  soul;  the  other  gained  a  cross 
by  which  he  saved  a  world. 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY 


Philip,  I  am  worse  than  Judas.  I  never 
can  forgive  myself.  That  I  should  deny 
the  Master  so  openly,  so  shamelessly, 
and  at  such  a  time  is  breaking  my  heart.  If  I 
could  only  see  him,  hear  him  speak  one  for¬ 
giving  word,  I  wouldn’t  care  then  what  they 
might  do  to  me,  but  he  is  dead  and  there  is  no 
way  by  which  I  can  let  him  know  how  dis¬ 
tressed  and  sorrow-stricken  I  am.  O  when  I 
think  of  him  standing  there,  not  one  of  his  dis¬ 
ciples  near  him,  bound  as  a  common  prisoner, 
abused  by  the  soldiers,  actually  spat  upon; 
while  I,  who  but  an  hour  before  had  said  I 
would  die  for  him,  swore  I  didn’t  even  know 
him;  and  three  times,  Philip,  I  repeated  that 
infamous,  dreadful  lie.  I  didn’t  think  it  was 
in  me  to  be  so  cowardly,  so  treacherous,  so  un¬ 
worthy  of  his  love.  And  I  can’t  plead  that  I 
was  taken  by  surprise,  for  he  warned  me;  you 
heard  him  say,  I  would  deny  him.  But  I 
couldn’t  think  it  was  possible.  O  what  would 
I  give  if  I  could  only  blot  out  that  terrible 
hour!  The  memory  of  it  will  remain  with  me 
as  long  as  I  live.  And  the  look  that  the  dear 
Master  gave  me,  as  he  was  being  led  away,  I 

167 


168 


THE  MASTER 


can  never  forget.  I  wish  now  I  had  died  with 
him.  Wherever  I  go  I  can  see  his  face,  and 
hear  him  say,  ‘Simon,  Simon,  behold  Satan 
hath  desired  to  have  you  that  he  might  sift 
you  as  wheat.’  But  I  would  not  heed  the 
warning  and  the  last  words  he  heard  from  me 
were  the  curses  with  which  I  denied  him.” 

Peter  could  not  keep  back  the  tears,  nor  the 
sobs  that  gathered  in  his  throat.  How  unlike 
the  man  of  the  Paschal  supper,  when  he  was  so 
positive,  so  absolute!  Now  everything  of  self- 
confidence  was  gone,  and  the  eyes  with  which 
he  looked  at  Philip  were  those  of  a  crushed  and 
despairing  soul. 

For  a  time  the  two  men  sat  in  silence,  each 
busy  with  his  own  sad  and  bitter  memories; 
for  in  such  hours  thought  is  strangely  quick¬ 
ened  and  the  heart  throbs  with  painful  in¬ 
tensity. 

Finally  Philip  said:  “Peter,  you  are  no  worse 
than  I  am.  Didn’t  I  play  the  part  of  a  coward 
and  a  traitor.^  When  the  soldiers  came  to 
Gethsemane  and  led  the  Master  away,  I  was 
one  of  the  first  to  desert  him.  I  didn’t  even 
wait  to  see  where  they  were  leading  him,  or 
what  they  were  going  to  do,  but  ran  like  a 
craven  back  into  the  garden  and  hid  behind 
the  olive  trees.  You  have  no  more  cause  to  be 
heart-broken  than  I  have.  Sometimes  it  seems 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  169 


as  if  it  is  all  a  hideous  dream.  It  is  too  dread¬ 
ful  to  be  true.  When  I  think  of  what  the  Mas¬ 
ter  has  been  to  me  during  these  years,  caring 
for  me  in  so  many  ways,  speaking  to  me  so 
lovingly,  always  tender,  always  gracious,  and 
this  is  my  return— -a  base,  cruel  desertion  in 
the  hour  of  his  sorrow.” 

Philip  did  not  sob,  no  tears  were  in  his  eyes, 
but  there  was  in  his  voice  a  grief  deeper  than 
sobs  or  tears  could  express. 

Soon  after  James  came  in,  then  Matthew, 
then  the  others,  until  all  of  the  twelve  were 
there  except  Judas  and  Thomas. 

“Yes,”  Matthew  said,  in  reply  to  a  question 
of  James,  “Judas  went  to  the  chief  priests  and 
elders  and  said  he  had  sinned  in  betraying 
innocent  blood.  Caiaphas  turned  upon  him 
with  a  cruel,  mocking  smile,  and  tauntingly 
replied,  ‘What  is  that  to  us?  See  thou  to  that.’ 
I  believe  Judas  thought  they  would  release  the 
Master  on  his  public  declaration  of  his  inno¬ 
cence.  But  when  he  covenanted  with  such 
men  as  Annas  and  Caiaphas,  he  might  have 
known  what  they  would  do.  Seeing  that  they 
only  mocked  and  taunted  him,  he  took  the 
thirty  pieces  of  silver,  flung  them  at  their 
feet  with  all  the  rage  of  a  man  possessed  of  an 
evil  spirit,  then  went  out  and  hanged  himself.” 

Matthew’s  sad  story  was  listened  to  in  pain- 


170 


THE  MASTER 


ful  silence.  No  comment  was  made.  No  words 
of  anger  were  spoken.  They  could  not  forget 
that  Judas  had  been  their  fellow  disciple,  and 
though  he  had  betrayed  the  Master,  they, 
themselves,  had  shamefully  deserted  him. 

That  was  a  black,  starless  night  for  these 
men.  Not  a  gleam  or  glint  of  light  was  any¬ 
where  to  be  seen.  In  addition  to  the  memory 
of  their  own  dishonor,  there  was  the  terrible 
shock  of  the  Master’s  death.  This  meant  that 
the  dreams,  the  visions,  the  hopes  they  had 
cherished  so  fondly  had  come  to  an  end.  Peo¬ 
ple  would  laugh  at  them,  jeer  at  them,  make 
sport  of  them,  as  the  deluded  followers  of  a 
despised  and  crucified  Nazarene. 

Matthew  would  have  to  return  to  his  place 
at  the  seat  of  custom  and  once  more  become  a 
hated  publican.  Peter,  and  two  or  three  oth¬ 
ers,  would  be  forced  to  resume  their  weary  toil 
as  fishermen.  Thomas  would  go  back  to  his 
native  city,  there  to  face  the  story  of  failure 
and  disaster.  Such  a  sad,  pitiful  ending  to  their 
three  years  of  discipleship. 

Though  it  was  long  past  midnight,  no  one 
thought  of  sleep.  Who  could  sleep  with  hearts 
so  heavy  and  burdened  as  theirs?  Peter, 
usually  the  first  to  ask  questions,  was  strangely 
silent.  It  was  Andrew,  therefore,  who  inquired 
about  Mary  of  Magdala.  This  at  once  aroused 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  171 


their  interest,  for  Mary  was  beloved  of  them 
all. 

“How  well  I  remember  the  day  she  first 
came  to  the  Master,”  said  Bartholomew;  “her 
hair  was  unbound  and  fell  loosely  over  her 
shoulders;  her  eyes  had  a  strange,  haunted 
look,  as  though  some  one  was  pursuing  her; 
her  face,  though  beautiful,  had  a  wild,  peculiar 
expression,  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  was  richly  dressed  and  had  a  servant  with 
her,  who  followed  her  closely,  always  so  near 
as  to  touch  her  and  restrain  her  if  necessary. 
There  was  something  in  her  restless  move¬ 
ments,  her  vague,  incoherent  speech,  her  whole 
bearing  in  fact,  that  suggested  the  presence  of 
evil  spirits.  I  don’t  think  I  ever  felt  more 
sorry  for  anyone  than  I  did  for  her  that  day. 
A  young,  beautiful  woman,  to  be  so  afflicted! 
She  seemed  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing, 
yet  didn’t  want  to  do  it.  Her  mind  wasn’t 
quite  a  blank,  that  I  could  see,  but  she  was 
struggling  all  the  while  against  things  that 
dazed  and  frightened  her.” 

Bartholomew  rarely  took  any  part  in  the 
gatherings  of  the  disciples,  but  when  he  did 
it  was  always  to  some  purpose. 

“But  after  she  had  seen  the  Master,”  he 
went  on,  ‘‘the  change  in  her  was  wonderful.  I 
couldn’t  hear  what  he  said,  for  he  spoke  in  a 


172 


THE  MASTER 


low,  gentle  tone,  intended  just  for  her,  but  im¬ 
mediately  her  eyes  became  clear,  the  hunted, 
haunted  look  died  out  from  her  face,  and  her 
smile  was  pure  and  sweet  as  that  of  a  little 
child.  Whatever  her  affliction  was,  she  was 
cured  of  it  that  day.” 

Bartholomew  paused,  but  before  he  could  re¬ 
sume,  James  broke  in  by  saying:  “She  has 
surely  given  proof  of  her  devotion,  for  we  have 
all  had  favors  at  her  hands.  Had  it  not  been 
for  her,  many  times  we  might  have  gone  hun¬ 
gry.  Often,  when  she  thought  no  one  was 
looking,  I  have  seen  her  drop  a  handful  of 
silver  into  the  bag,  and  though  she  might  live 
in  luxury  with  her  people,  for  they  are  rich,  she 
preferred  to  minister  to  the  Master.” 

“When  I  was  on  my  way  here,”  Simon  the 
Canaanite  said,  “I  was  able  to  see  Chuza,  the 
wife  of  Herod’s  steward,  and  she  told  me  Mary 
had  remained  at  the  cross  until  the  end,  but 
was  not  quite  certain  where  she  went  after 
that.” 

“She  came  to  my  house,”  John  said,  in  a 
choking  voice.  “She  came  to  bear  a  message  to 
my  new  mother,  the  mother  he  gave  me  while 
on  the  cross.  She  stayed  with  Mary,  my 
mother,  comforting  her  as  best  she  could,  then 
left  saying  she  was  going  to  prepare  the  spices 
and  fine  linen  for  the  tomb.” 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  173 


The  day  was  now  getting  ready  to  break. 
The  stars  had  gradually  withdrawn,  and  the 
moon  was  no  longer  in  the  sky.  Very  faintly 
the  clouds  in  the  east  began  to  crimson,  and 
soon  the  weary,  broken-hearted  disciples  must 
face  the  scorn  and  hatred  of  another  day. 
Alert  for  every  sound — for  these  men  were  in 
hiding,  not  knowing  but  at  any  moment  the 
soldiers  might  arrest  them  as  disciples  of  the 
Master — they  heard  the  patter  of  hurried  feet, 
followed  by  a  sharp  knock  on  the  door,  which 
was  cautiously  opened,  when  Mary  exclaimed: 

“They  have  taken  away  the  Lord  out  of  the 
sepulcher  and  we  know  not  where  they  have 
laid  him!’’ 

Mary  spoke  under  the  most  intense  emotion 
and  stood  there  trembling  with  excitement. 
One  look  at  her  pale,  agitated  face  convinced 
Peter  and  John  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 
What  could  this  mean?  Was  it  possible  that 
the  chief  priests,  knowing  that  under  Jewish 
law  the  body  of  one  crucified  could  not  be 
given  honorable  burial,  had  profaned  the  tomb 
of  Joseph  of  Arimathsea  and  removed  the  body 
of  their  victim  as  a  proof  of  their  relentless 
hate?  Fear  no  longer  held  these  two  disciples. 
A  holy  anger  consumed  them.  This  was  a 
crowning  degradation.  To  break  in  upon  the 
sanctities  of  the  tomb,  and  take  away  the  body 


174 


THE  MASTER 


of  their  beloved  Master,  not  even  allowing  it  to 
rest  in  peace,  was  the  very  depth  of  infamy. 

Without  waiting  to  question  Mary,  they  both 
ran  with  all  possible  haste  to  the  sepulcher.  It 
being  early  in  the  day,  not  much  beyond  dawn, 
few  people  were  in  the  streets,  nor  did  any  of 
the  soldiers  molest  them.  John,  lighter  of  step, 
possibly  more  eager  of  heart,  reached  the  tomb 
first,  and  saw  that  the  stone,  so  sealed  and 
guarded,  had  been  removed,  and  looking  in 
observed  only  the  graveclothes,  but  remained 
outside.  Peter,  less  reverent  and  less  delicate, 
when  he  reached  the  tomb  went  in,  and  saw,  to 
his  amazement,  that  the  graveclothes  had  not 
seemingly  been  disturbed.  Everything  was  in 
its  place.  Each  garment  was  carefully  be¬ 
stowed.  The  napkin  with  which  the  head  had 
been  bound  was  softly  folded  and  placed  apart 
by  itself. 

“John,”  he  called  in  an  awe-struck  voice,  “I 
believe  the  Master  has  risen  from  the  dead,  as 
he  said  he  would.  Come  in  and  see  for  your¬ 
self  how  things  are  here.”  At  first  John  hesi¬ 
tated,  but  seeing  the  look  on  Peter’s  face,  he 
went  into  the  tomb  and  saw  what  had  filled 
Peter  with  wonder.  Surely,  no  coarse,  defiling 
hand  had  been  laid  upon  anything  in  that 
sepulcher.  Nor  could  any  hand,  no  matter 
how  tender,  so  strangely  have  placed  these 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  175 


garments.  They  seemed  to  contain  a  body 
yet  no  body  was  there!  To  all  intents  the 
Master  was  asleep,  yet  not  even  his  shadow 
was  visible.  Then  a  great  joy  came  upon 
them.  He  had  indeed  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
soon  they  would  see  his  beloved  face  again. 
With  a  parting  glance  around  the  silent,  empty 
tomb,  they  hastened  away,  that  they  might  tell 
the  other  disciples. 

As  they  went  out  Mary  came  in,  but  by  a 
less  public  way,  so  she  did  not  see  them,  there¬ 
fore  knew  nothing  of  what  they  had  seen. 
And  even  if  they  had  told  her  she  might  not 
have  believed;  perhaps  imagined  that  they, 
knowing  of  her  intense  love  for  the  Master, 
would  only  say  these  things  to  comfort  her. 
Mary’s  love  for  the  Master  was  no  mere  sense 
of  gratitude.  In  the  beginning  it  may  have 
been  so,  but  as  the  years  went  by  and  she  came 
to  know  him;  when  she  saw  his  superb  man¬ 
hood,  his  boundless  charity,  his  singular  ten¬ 
derness;  when  she  saw  his  splendid  independ¬ 
ence,  his  hatred  of  everything  unworthy,  his 
marvelous  pity  for  even  the  most  fallen  and 
degraded,  the  gratitude  for  his  great  miracle 
in  her  grew  into  an  intense,  spiritual  flame, 
which  burned  as  a  holy  fire  on  the  altar  of  her 
heart. 

With  that  peculiar  intuition,  the  endowment 


176 


THE  MASTER 


of  tender,  sensitive  women,  Mary  left  her  home 
in  Magdala  when  she  knew  of  the  Master’s 
intent  to  keep  the  Passover  at  Jerusalem.  She 
had  a  premonition  of  danger,  that  a  crisis  was 
at  hand.  She  had  long  known  that  such  teach¬ 
ing  and  preaching  as  his  could  not  fail  to  create 
bitter  enemies.  She  was  anxious,  therefore,  to 
be  near  him.  But  she  never  imagined  that 
Caiaphas  would  plan  for  the  crucifixion  of  the 
Master,  or  carry  out  his  plans  with  such  con¬ 
summate  skill.  So  she  stood  at  the  cross  an 
amazed,  bewildered,  broken-hearted  woman. 
She  cared  nothing  for  the  priests,  the  soldiers, 
or  the  wild,  unruly  mob.  No  jeer  or  coarse  jest 
could  move  her  from  the  place  she  had  chosen. 
Through  the  long,  dreadful  hours  she  main¬ 
tained  her  vigil,  never  leaving  until  Nicodemus 
and  Joseph  had  given  gracious  burial  to  the 
body  of  him  she  loved  so  well.  Nor  did  even 
that  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  devotion,  for 
hardly  had  the  Jewish  Sabbath  ended,  and  the 
law  permitted  her  to  go,  before  daybreak  she 
was  on  her  way  to  the  sepulcher,  that  she 
might  render  loving  service  to  the  dead. 

And  now  she  is  on  her  way  there  again  with 
the  hope  of  finding  the  place  to  which  the 
body  of  her  loved  One  had  been  removed. 

Broken-hearted,  burdened  with  an  over¬ 
whelming  sorrow,  tears,  such  as  only  she  could 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  177 


shed,  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  she  stood  out¬ 
side  the  sepulcher.  As  clearer  light  had  come, 
she  could  see  within  the  tomb,  and  saw  two 
angels  clothed  in  white,  the  one  at  the  head 
and  the  other  at  the  feet,  where  the  body  of 
the  Master  had  lain. 

Then  one  of  the  angels  said,  “Woman,  why 
weepest  thou.^^” 

For  the  moment  she  was  startled,  aiffrighted 
even;  but  with  a  courage  only  possible  to 
those  who  love  deeply  she  answered,  “Because 
they  have  taken  away  my  Lord  and  I  know 
not  where  they  have  laid  him.” 

Drawing  back  from  the  sepulcher,  the  hot 
tears  blinding  her  eyes,  she  saw  a  Man  who 
seemed  to  her  as  Joseph’s  gardener,  who  asked: 
“Woman,  why  weepest  thou.^  Whom  seekest 
thou?” 

“Sir,”  she  replied,  through  her  tears,  her 
voice  breaking  as  she  spoke,  “if  thou  have 
borne  him  hence,  tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid 
him  and  I  will  take  him  away.” 

“Mary!” 

She  staggered  and  almost  fell  as  that  word 
was  spoken.  She  knew  then  it  was  not  the 
gardener  who  had  called  her  name. 

“Rabboni!  Master!”  she  cried,  then  looked 
at  him,  strangely  puzzled  and  bewildered. 
Only  two  days  before  she  had  seen  him  on  the 


178 


THE  MASTER 


cross,  pallid,  bleeding,  dying;  and  now  he 
stands  before  her  in  all  the  strength  and  glory 
of  young  manhood.  She  must  be  dreaming. 
Or  has  the  shock  of  Calvary  brought  back  the 
madness  from  which  he  had  delivered  her.? 
But  no,  she  could  not  be  mistaken,  for  only 
he  could  speak  as  he  did  then.  That  was  the 
voice  she  had  heard  at  Magdala  when  her 
soul  was  given  divine  peace.  That  was  the 
voice  which  had  said,  ‘‘Come  unto  me,  all  ye 
that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest.’^ 

No,  her  madness  had  not  returned;  it  was  no 
wild  dream,  her  eyes  might  deceive  her  but 
her  heart  never,  and  in  another  instant  she 
would  have  flung  herself  at  his  feet  in  loving 
adoration,  when  she  heard  him  say:  “Touch 
me  not,  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  to  my 
Father;  but  go  to  my  brethren,  and  say  unto 
them,  I  ascend  unto  my  Father  and  your 
Father,  and  to  my  God  and  your  God.” 

As  the  Master  spoke,  Mary  reverently  bowed 
her  head,  but  on  looking  up  found  she  was 
alone. 

Thus  began  the  Master’s  Easter  Day. 

•  ••••••• 

“No,  I  will  not  believe  it.  The  women  were 
mistaken.  They  saw  no  angels.  Now,  let  me 
show  you  how  I  regard  their  story.  Remem- 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  179 


ber,  they  were  up  all  night,  just  as  they  were 
the  night  before;  then,  you  know,  they  have 
hardly  broken  bread  for  over  two  days;  put 
these  things  together — loss  of  sleep,  lack  of 
food — and  can’t  you  see  that  going  to  the 
sepulcher  when  it  was  yet  dark,  they,  so  weak¬ 
ened  and  exhausted,  were  ready  to  imagine 
anything?” 

The  speaker  was  Cleopas,  on  his  way  to 
Emmaus,  a  village  seven  or  eight  miles  from 
Jerusalem. 

“All  that  you  say  is  true,  but  the  women 
spoke  so  positively  and  were  so  clear  and 
definite  that  there  must  be  something  in  their 
story.  Look  at  the  risk  they  run.  If  Pilate 
or  Caiaphas  hears  of  it,  there  is  likely  to  be 
serious  trouble.” 

It  was  Simon,  a  distant  relative  of  Simon 
Peter,  who  made  reply.  They  were  both  fol¬ 
lowers  of  the  Master  and  represented  multi¬ 
tudes  in  Jerusalem,  and  elsewhere,  who  had 
been  reached  by  his  ministry. 

“I  wish  they  were  not  quite  so  positive. 
People  will  only  laugh  at  them.  Leaving  my 
house  this  morning  I  met  one  of  the  chief 
priests,  and  in  a  jeering  voice  he  said,  ‘Cleopas, 
this  is  the  third  day.  Where  is  the  Nazarene?’ 
Passing  by  the  Temple,  I  saw  several  of  the 
scribes  and  Sadducees  and  I  heard  one  of 


180 


THE  MASTER 


them  ask,  ‘Wasn’t  the  Galilsean  to  appear  to 
his  disciples  on  the  third  day?’  and  their  laugh 
could  be  heard  across  the  Temple  court.  Things 
are  bad  enough  now  without  the  women,  with 
their  story,  making  them  worse.” 

“Why  are  you  discoursing  so  earnestly  and 
so  sorrowfully?  What  has  happened  that  ye 
are  so  distressed?”  It  was  a  young  Man,  a 
stranger  to  both  Cleopas  and  Simon,  who  was 
the  questioner,  a  fellow  Traveler  on  the  way 
to  Emmaus. 

“Well,  you  must  certainly  be  a  stranger  in 
Jerusalem,  not  to  know  about  the  things  which 
have  come  to  pass  there  in  these  days.” 

Cleopas  spoke  impatiently.  For  anyone  not 
to  know  of  things  which  had  stirred  up  the 
whole  city  as  never  before,  was  to  him  most 
surprising. 

“To  what  things  do  you  refer?”  The  voice 
of  the  stranger  was  so  courteous  that  Cleopas 
felt  ashamed  of  his  impatience  and  said: 

“The  things  concerning  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 
He  was  a  prophet  mighty  in  deed  and  word 
before  God  and  all  the  people.  We  thought 
he  was  the  Messiah,  and  that  the  time  had 
come  for  the  redemption  of  Israel.  But  on 
the  day  before  the  Passover  the  chief  priests 
and  rulers  had  him  condemned  to  death  and 
crucified.  It  is  now  the  third  day  since  these 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  181 


things  were  done.  But  certain  women,  also  of 
our  company — for  we  all  believed  in  him — 
astonished  us  by  saying  that  when  they  went 
to  the  sepulcher  it  was  empty;  his  body  was 
not  there,  and  they  declare  they  had  a  vision 
of  angels  who  told  them  that  he  was  alive. 
Then  others  went  and  found  it  to  be  as  the 
women  said,  the  stone  was  rolled  away,  the 
grave  was  empty,  but  him  they  saw  not.  I 
don’t  know  what  to  think.  I  believe  the 
women  have  deceived  themselves.” 

‘‘But  didn’t  you  know  that  all  these  things 
were  prophesied  of  the  Messiah?” 

They  looked  wonderingly  at  the  stranger. 
Evidently,  it  was  not  his  purpose  to  deceive 
them  by  asking  the  questions  he  did,  but  to 
help  them  if  possible. 

“Suppose  we  begin  with  Moses,”  he  said. 

“Moses!  Where  did  he  prophesy  about  the 
Messiah?”  Cleopas  asked.  “He  was  our  great 
law-giver,  not  a  prophet.” 

The  stranger  smiled  in  such  a  way  that  both 
Cleopas  and  Simon  felt  strangely  drawn  to 
him. 

Then  beginning  with  the  first  prophecy  in 
Genesis,  he  took  up  the  prophets  one  after 
another,  and  showed  how,  during  the  ages 
past,  the  way  was  being  prepared  for  Mes¬ 
siah’s  coming.  Never  was  the  walk  to  Em- 


182 


THE  MASTER 


maus  so  light  or  easy  as  on  that  afternoon. 
Without  thought  the  miles  went  by,  so  intent 
were  they  on  what  was  being  said.  Dim,  ob¬ 
scure  prophecies  were  now  full  of  meaning. 
Dark,  mysterious  sayings  were  made  strangely 
luminous.  The  one  great  purpose  of  God 
through  all  the  ages  was  now  being  revealed, 
and  it  was  a  marvelous  unfolding. 

When  they  reached  Emmaus  they  would  not 
permit  the  Stranger  to  go  farther,  saying, 
“Abide  with  us;  for  it  is  toward  evening,  and 
the  day  is  far  spent.” 

As  they  sat  at  their  evening  meal,  the 
Stranger  took  bread,  held  it  while  he  offered 
thanks,  and  after  breaking  it  gave  them  each 
a  piece.  It  may  have  been  that  in  the  prayer 
they  heard  once  more  the  Master’s  voice;  or 
that  in  the  breaking  of  bread  they  were  re¬ 
minded  of  his  feeding  the  multitude,  but  all 
at  once  their  eyes  were  opened.  Then  they 
knew  who  the  Stranger  was,  whose  words  had 
caused  their  hearts  to  burn  within  them,  who 
had  so  wonderfully  opened  to  them  the  Scrip¬ 
tures.  But  before  they  could  speak,  even  as 
they  looked,  he  vanished  out  of  their  sight! 

Though  they  had  planned  to  remain  over 
night  in  Emmaus,  that  was  now  impossible. 
No  matter  what  the  weariness  or  fatigue,  they 
must  hasten  back  to  Jerusalem.  To  even 


THE  MASTER’S  EASTER  DAY  183 


think  of  staying  in  Emmaus  with  such  a  joy 
filling  their  souls  was  out  of  all  question.  They 
knew  now  that  the  story  of  the  women  was 
true,  also  the  words  the  angels  had  spoken  to 
them.  But  they  had  even  a  greater  story  to 
tell  and  had  seen  something  far  beyond  a 
vision  of  angels.  They  had  seen  the  Master, 
had  walked  with  him  down  the  long,  dusty 
road  to  Emmaus,  had  taken  bread  from  his 
hand ! 

How  they  swung  along  on  their  way  to  the 
city!  Their  walk  was  almost  a  run.  There 
was  no  sense  of  fatigue,  no  feeling  of  exhaus¬ 
tion.  The  cool  night  air  served  as  a  stimulant. 
Hardly  was  a  mile  well  started  before  it  was 
ended.  Approaching  the  city,  they  became 
more  cautious  lest  a  soldier  or  one  of  the 
high  priest’s  guards  might  question  them.  At 
length  they  reached  the  house  where  the  dis¬ 
ciples  were  in  seclusion,  but  found  the  doors 
shut.  Making  themselves  known,  they  found 
admittance,  and  were  met  with  the  glad  ex¬ 
clamation,  “The  Lord  is  risen  indeed,  and 
hath  appeared  to  Simon.” 

Then  they  told  of  their  seeing  the  Master, 
and  all  listened  intently;  but  when  Cleopas 
was  relating  how  mysteriously  he  had  disap¬ 
peared,  a  familiar  voice  said,  “Peace  be  unto 


i 

184  THE  MASTER 

It  was  the  Master.  No  door  had  been 
opened.  No  bolt  or  bar  removed.  Yet  just  as 
strangely  as  he  had  withdrawn  from  the  home 
in  Emmaus,  in  like  manner  he  appeared  to 
the  disciples  in  Jerusalem. 

“Why  are  you  troubled.?^”  he  asked,  seeing 
the  startled,  frightened  faces  of  some  in  that 
company,  “and  why  do  thoughts  arise  in  your 
hearts?” 

Then  he  showed  them  his  wounded  hands, 
the  bruised  feet,  the  pierced  side,  after  which 
he  said:  “Peace  be  unto  you.  As  my  Father 
hath  sent  me,  even  so  send  I  you.  Receive  ye 
the  Holy  Ghost.” 

A  gracious,  divine  peace  came  upon  them 
all.  Then  they  looked  wonderingly  at  each 
other,  for  the  Master  had  gone;  in  prayer  and 
benediction  his  Easter  Day  had  ended. 


9 


I 


\ 


>  I 


.  7.*  .»*•  I 

••  I 

.  ••  ■ 

y.v  ■  \ 


\ 


\  ■ 

[  ■ 
[- 

i 

r. 

f 


I 


I- 

1 

t. 


.  r 


?  i  1/ 


I.  » 


■y. 


\ 


L 


